


Atopia

by recreational



Series: Of Your Kind [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Posttraumatic Stress, Romance, Rough Sex, Violence, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recreational/pseuds/recreational
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War had tipped the balance against them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The third - and last - part of the series. It's heavily based on the first two parts, so just reading this one might be an irritating experience. Or not - I cannot really say.
> 
> Betad, just like the second part, by the indispensable NurseDarry, a steady source of wisdom and real English.

Jim cracked his eyes open. They were so dry that his eyelids felt like sandpaper at first, chafing the sensitive cornea painfully until a prickle of tears eased the way. As if he had been staring ahead the whole time he had slept – which he most likely had.

To continue seamlessly, his eyes flitted around on their own account, taking in the dirt on the ground and the feet shuffling by, categorizing the boots as those of the hairy Maldean that had arrived a week ago.

Or had it already been months?

Trying to move, Jim felt a sharp stone dig into his hip and his back bumped into the rocks behind him. If he could just sleep in his cell! But it was better to rest at random places and not in a confined space: too few possibilities to maneuver in case of an attack. Sleep deprived in every bone, he forced himself to stand up and directly leaned against the rocks. He ran his hands down his stained trousers and a finger caught in the fabric.

“Fuck,” Jim swore under his breath as pain shot through him. He blinked his eyes into focus. His right ring finger was swollen and crooked, and damn, perhaps even broken. And all of this because that bastard of a Lethean thought he had had to test Jim – like almost every new convict in this hell hole – to show his strength by challenging the only human.

Jim huffed out a small laugh and gritted his teeth. _Idiots_. But this one had briefly managed to mess with Jim’s mind, making him lose his concentration for a fraction of a second.

“Fucking telepaths!” Jim grumbled and then rubbed his face, combing dirt out of his scraggy beard. The display of the other inmates slowly stirring to life made him feel even wearier than before, and he quelled the wish that bubbled up each time he woke up. If one of them was human. Only one!

 _But they’d most likely have been killed by now anyway,_ he thought and held on to a piece of rock jutting out right next to his waist. Before anyone could see his weakness, he pulled himself together, squared his shoulders and adopted a fierce look to glower at the horned green creature that snarled at him in passing.

Tildorns were all bark and no bite, fortunately.

Automatically, Jim shuffled toward where a piercing smell came from, and without paying the Klingon guards three meters above him any attention, peed into the stinking pool of piss before joining the crowd that filed toward a small hole in a large door.

At the beginning, Jim had still wondered where that door led to: the quarters of the guards? An inhabitable planet? Yet in the end he had decided that it was probably just the passage to a different hell and not worth exploring. Too much of the inmates’ imagination was directed toward that door, a cruel, deliberate strategy of the Klingons. There wouldn’t be an escape behind it. Except the ultimate one, of course. But death hadn’t been an option until now. Not yet.

Elbowing his way through the bodies of all sizes and hues, Jim managed to get hold of a bowl and did his utmost to wolf down the slimy stew as quickly as possible.

“Cook’s outdone himself today, hasn’t he?” he heard and reluctantly, he turned his head. Blue antennae performed a little dance for him, obviously amused by the fact that their owner had managed to soundlessly sneak up to Jim.

“Ennehl,” Jim stated, stuffing his mouth with the last bit of the food. He licked his fingers clean and put the bowl into another small hole where it was immediately transported away by a conveyer. His hand got knocked away by the bowl of the next inmate in line and Jim bit back a hiss of pain. Stepping away from the crowd, he hoped that the Andorian wouldn’t follow him.

“Anything broken?” Ennehl’s voice. “It sounded as if that mindbender snapped your arm in half when he grabbed you. I was really worried for a second.”

“Just a finger,” Jim grunted and looked up. Maybe Ennehl really had been and still was concerned. Impossible to say, though.

“Uh.” Ennehl made a face. “Want me to adjust it?”

“What do you want in return?” Jim asked. Nothing was for free around here. Not even a small service by someone he would call the closest thing to, well, an acquaintance.

“I know you’ve got some of that rock hard fudge stored away somewhere,” Ennehl said with a grin.

“Deal,” Jim answered directly. The throbbing pain would eventually subside, but it was better to keep the finger somewhat functional, so straightening it could save its mobility. If he was lucky.

In a quiet corner, they turned away from curious eyes, and the Andorian carefully felt the finger. It was odd, someone touching him as carefully as that, applying pressure just to check and not to inflict pain.

“Are you going to fix this or are you planning to propose?” Jim grunted. He had just finished the sentence when Ennehl moved the bone with a snap. “Damn you!”

Continuing to curse quietly, Jim accepted the rag that Ennehl handed him and wrapped it around his finger as tightly as possible.

“As good as new.” Of course the Andorian would praise his own accomplishment. “And after the others saw what you did with that ignorant fucker afterwards, I guess you’ll have a bit of peace now.”

“Until the next new group arrives.”

Jim watched Ennehl compress his lips and nod. They both knew it would always be like that. In a prison full of everyone the Klingons deemed a threat to their power, all the thieves and tricksters, the bootleggers, and not forgetting murderers, the pecking order was ruthless.

“What I don’t get is why you didn’t kill him. One enemy less,” Ennehl pointed out. “And you didn’t have any qualms when it came to the Nausicaan.”

“Once I broke the mental hold, the Lethean was no match, was he?” Jim turned away and marched toward the entrance of the mine. Ennehl was right. It would have been easy. And if he was honest with himself, Jim had to admit that for a moment, he had wished for a reason to get rid of the Lethean. He’d had the slim creature in a choke hold, the delicate throat so easy to snap – one reason less to look over his shoulder, one threat eliminated.

But then there was that whisper, that strained plea for his life and that was it. Jim had to release him, adding him to the large number of inmates who were just waiting for a wrong step to take a human down. The only upside was that here, no one trusted the other, so they hadn’t ganged up to kill him. But that was just a matter of time.

Until then, surviving yet another damn day was the task at hand; a new challenge that started with the morning sirens and never really ended, even during sleep.

They had reached the wagons that transported the inmates into the tunnel, and just like every other day, they climbed into the narrow cars, squeezing between the others who grudgingly made room for them.

Days, months…it was always the same. Jim breathed shallowly to inhale as little of the stench surrounding him as possible. How long had he been here? One year? Five?

Maybe more. It definitely _felt_ like a lot more.

The train set in motion and the sudden movement activated muscles that Jim had carefully avoided using until then. Damn that bastard! Jim thought and winced. Before the Lethean had twisted Jim’s arm, he had managed to land a good number of punches and a vicious kick, ruthlessly taking advantage of Jim’s dazed state, and the blows Jim had taken now made themselves felt.

With all the strength he could muster, he struggled through the day, but the work in the mine wore him down even more than usual. When the whistle that signaled the end of the shift sounded through the tunnels, he all but dropped the drill right where he was standing, as exhausted as he was.

Half expecting Ennehl to have already sneaked up to him again before they boarded the wagon back to the prison cave, Jim wasn’t surprised when the Andorian appeared out of nowhere on their arrival at the cells.

“You’ll get your stuff right after the ration, sweet tooth,” Jim teased him without much enthusiasm.

“No worries, I know you stick by your word,” the Andorian said and chuckled. “Plus, you can get more any time you like. But don’t sell your ass too cheaply, Jimmy.”

Jim clenched his fists. Why did Ennehl insist on calling him by that name? “Keep your mouth shut, you hear me?” he hissed.

“Come on! No one else has such good connections to our guards,” Ennehl whispered, and nudged him in the ribs. Jim drew in a pained breath. “That large guy on block three keeps watching you, you know? If you manage to get into his pants, he might even help us with that damned message business.”

“Keep your voice down!” Jim growled, and pulled Ennehl into a corner. “And I’m not selling my ass! The last one who assumed that is still limping today!” He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing that happens between me and those guards will leave any marks on me. That’s how it goes, you get that?”

Looking at the now cowering Andorian, Jim wished that Ennehl wasn’t the only one who spoke English. A fucking language prodigy keeping contact with almost half of the prison population. Why he had chosen to befriend the only human in this pit was beyond Jim. Perhaps because he knew humans from the space station he had worked on? There was no telling this, as Ennehl painstakingly avoided revealing anything about himself that was too personal.

In the end, sympathy depended on who could benefit him most, Jim had decided. So maybe the fact that there was no one with a greater technological knowledge than Jim had made him a suitable candidate. Yet there was no way the man could be trusted, although he was still the best choice among the other inmates. And he was no threat, above all.

Jim tightened his grip when Ennehl tried to wiggle out of his grasp. _Yeah, no chance,_ Jim thought, the buzz of power making him slightly light-headed, and the pain that had accompanied him all day disappearing. No one had more fighting experience or better reflexes than Jim. On the rare occasions he saw himself naked, like when the inmates were hosed down, he didn’t recognize himself anymore. Just muscles and sinews, nothing else was left of his body. And scars.

So he could only speculate that it was his fierceness or the fact that he was the only prisoner of war that called out to some of the guards. Whatever it was, it didn’t get him anywhere near escaping.

At least those Klingons didn’t leave any marks on him that would prove they were fraternizing with the enemy. The only moments he was safe from brutal treatment, if one looked at it realistically.

“Relax, okay?” Ennehl’s body became slack and he searched Jim’s look. “We both know you won’t hurt me.” The Andorian gave a small smile. “You never have. So save your energy for tonight. We’re still going to try and send a message, aren’t we?”

Jim sighed and let go of the fabric that once resembled a jacket. He would have given up finding a way to contact the outside world long ago. Why didn’t the Andorian understand that if anyone had a real interest in getting Jim out, they would’ve done it already?

Turning away to train his eyes on the wall, Jim made a conscious effort to keep the bitterness out of his face, despite the fact that his upper body felt like a vise was pressing all the air out of it.   

They had to be dead. His crew, everyone else he knew. They just _had_ to! Because otherwise they wouldn’t have forsaken him, would they?

Spock would have gone on a rescue mission. With or without Scotty or Bones, and against all threats of a court martial. Spock would not have hesitated. And for the fact that he hadn’t shown, there was just one explanation. The war had taken each and every one of them. And before it had even started, it had made sure that his other chance of rescue wasn’t in the game anymore.

Gritting his teeth, Jim did a mental swipe, getting rid of the faces of his friends and the moment he lost view of the tiny shuttle and the mist of Trasmo V swallowed it. The Enterprise, his crew, Khan – there was no use thinking of them. They wouldn’t help him get through this. Only one thought would: the memory of the man who was responsible for all this!

“Did you hear what I said?”

Jim focused his eyes and the alarmed look in Ennehl’s face brought him back to reality.

“Yeah, we’ll try tonight,” Jim said, tuning down his anger. “The containers are full.”

Containers full of ore. Apart from the sirens, the only other way to measure time. When were they replaced? After a fortnight, a month? Jim couldn’t say. What the sirens defined as days sometimes dragged on indefinitely, just like now when Jim’s body refused to cooperate and just wanted to rest, give up, forever at best.

Until the guards made their final round on the inmates’ level, Jim had fallen asleep repeatedly, always managing to wake up again after some minutes. But what was supposed to keep him awake anyway? he mused. The excitement of yet another attempt to reach the command room where there could be a communication device to transmit a message?

Ennehl and he had never been successful until then, twice they had almost been caught by guards. Also this time, they methodically followed the path they had forged, Jim overriding locks and Ennehl on the lookout, but to Jim’s surprise, they cracked the latch of a door that they had previously never managed to get through.

“Perhaps the panel over there!” Jim whispered and pointed to the other side of the room, but the Andorian just shook his head. “Why not?” Jim asked the instant it became clear why all the equipment in the room didn’t matter. Jim could tell the point of a phaser gun from anything else in the world, especially when it poked into his back with such force.

Furiously, he glowered at Ennehl. “You sold me out?” he barked, but the Andorian shrugged, avoiding Jim’s eyes. “Whatever they promised you, they’re just fucking with you!”

“Like they did with you?” Ennehl hissed, meeting Jim’s gaze at last. But for all the bravado the retort was supposed to show, Jim could hear and see the panic. Malicious glee came and went, though, as Jim was grabbed by two guards and dragged out of the room, downstairs, along endless corridors before another door opened.

Considering the bare cell with the single, weak light, Jim wrung out a smile. What a fitting place to die, he thought, and braced himself for what would follow. The first blow would be the most terrible, as always, and when it came, it directly broke a rib on impact, agony flaring up like a fire consuming him whole.

Wheezing, Jim doubled over, getting a small reprieve on the floor before the guards hoisted him up again and blows rained down on him. He tried to tense his muscles as much as possible, making the hits on his body less painful so that he had more strength to endure the ones that landed on his face. His nose broke, a sickening crunch that felt like something stabbed him right through the brain.

Then the blows stopped and one of the Klingons was shouting at Jim, face contorted in anger. Through his fuzzy mind, Jim tried to understand what he wanted, but all he could translate were the usual curses until suddenly, one word stood out, the one that Jim had feared most.

_Mah’Rat._

Although it hurt like hell, Jim squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t suppress the images: the bird-of-prey getting hit by another ship the moment the Enterprise fired. The Klingon transport ship briefly coming into view before photon torpedoes tore it apart.

_Mah’Rat._

Jim slumped down, every bit of strength draining from his muscles. The guards, perhaps thinking that he wanted to escape their grasp, started pummeling him again, kicking him for good measure until Jim’s arm broke alongside yet another rib.

But it wasn’t important anymore. This would be the end, some kind of cosmic retribution that had shadowed him the entire time in prison, Jim thought to himself when his body became numb and his mind slipped into a state of semi-consciousness, death hopefully waiting nearby to coax him to its side.

It was all right. He deserved an end like that.

Jim processed some kind of commotion – were they quarreling about whose turn it was to kill him? – but then there was nothing, no hits, no shouting, just a faint shuffling. 

“Sir?” someone whispered and Jim froze.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Khan breathed in, pulling the hood over his face a little more. A last peek into a reflective panel showed that the visage he had chosen was so nondescript that no one would remember it. Standard nose, small brown eyes that stood a little too near to each other, thin eyebrows. Toward the rim of the hood and along his beard, the skin became less defined as the cloaking device only needed to cover the upper half of his face, making it still possible to move his lips for speaking. So the skin faded into the darkness of the hood and the beard, but if he kept out of too bright light, no one would notice.

Nervously, Khan felt for the little box in the seam of his collar where it was sewed in right under his chin. He made sure the zipper was closed so the device wouldn’t move too far to the side and make his face become contorted. Everything seemed to be in place, though, and he definitely needed to leave _now_.

Because time was running out, quickly and unrelentingly, and with it his strength to keep himself from clawing out his own insides or somebody else’s. So he had to leave his room. Immediately.

 _My room._ His home for almost a month now. And although it was nothing but a dark hole full of pipes and conduits, he had felt safe and would have stayed there indefinitely, his bodily functions reduced to almost zero.

Hibernating. Forever at best – if it hadn’t been for his worst enemy, which had accompanied him so patiently that Khan had almost grown fond of it as it was the only real constant in his life. Yet its main disadvantage was that it took control from time to time, refusing to just give in and let him vegetate in a dark corner until his life force gave out.

 _Hunger_. Three weeks with just some scraps of food and the glass of water that filled twice each day due to a tiny leak in one of the cooling pipes. There was no possibility to make it bigger as it would have caused an alarm, possibly sending a repair crew to the forgotten room in the deepest and emptiest part of the engine section of the space station.

He had risked two weeks on a freighter without food, hoping that he would be able to make it to the end of the journey. Then the news that there would be a sweep of the ship had reached him in his hiding place in cargo bay. Some new Starfleet regulation, trying to uncover Klingon spies or smuggled weapons – or whatever the High Command had come up with to show its power.

So he had to leave the ship when it docked at the Tellarite station, no matter how deep in Federation territory he was and how dangerous it would be to have so little room to move about. A patrol could find him or test his blood and the second device, the one that masked his bio signals, couldn’t help him in that case.

Was it still there? He bent down to feel for it, finding it at the same place he had glued it into his shoe, next to his ankle. Losing his shoe was less likely to happen than losing his jacket. And hiding his bio signals was a lot more important than hiding his face.

 _Thrown at me as a red herring by Starfleet and now my only salvation,_ Khan thought bitterly. Once he had gotten the implants out and cracked their encryption, it hadn’t taken him a lot of time to modify them according to his needs.

He grunted. What Starfleet wouldn’t give to get their bloodied hands on a technology like that: a miniscule holocloaking device. This posed yet another reason to avoid falling into their hands at all cost. And for all the technology accomplished, it couldn’t help him with the bone-crushing hunger.

Khan squared his shoulders and took one last deep breath before he activated the door. It slid open much too quickly and his heart rate accelerated although the corridor was empty. The thought to abort his mission flashed through his head: perhaps he could survive on the water alone, contaminated or not. It couldn’t be lethal. Otherwise it would have killed him by now, wouldn’t it?

Something that was stronger than him dismissed the notion. He peeked out of the door before he darted to the other side of the dark hallway, hiding in a corner and forcing his breathing to calm down. He listened for sounds. Still nothing.

Perhaps he should have chosen one of the kitchens as his destination? The food would be in plain sight and much easier to steal. But he himself would be visible too, most likely illuminated by strong lamps. No, there were too many people working in those places and his decision to target the cargo bay had been the right one.

Khan visualized his path again and then set off. Ten steps to the right and there was the vent that opened easily and provided access to a maintenance tunnel. After working his way up three decks, climbing ladders and crawling through tubes, he reached the hallway next to the main promenade where all the shops and restaurants were situated.

He glanced around and quickly closed the door to the tunnel when someone turned around the corner – but the woman didn’t pay him any heed. Measuring his steps, Khan proceeded toward the crowded center of the station, always careful to avoid bumping into someone or doing anything that might arouse the slightest suspicion in the mall that bustled with merchants and customers of all species. And possibly Starfleet soldiers in civilian clothes, who knew?

Blocking out the enticing smells of the kitchens and the constant threat of being discovered, he left the area and turned into a corridor to steer toward a lift’s service shaft. He entered the access code that he had worked out with the help of the basic control panel in his room, and two decks up the embedded ladder and he was finally there, just a handful of doors away from the storage rooms. Walking along the corridor as if he belonged there, he nevertheless couldn’t stop his hands from clenching.

The last question. It still remained despite his attempts to work his way around it. The moment he opened that door, it would be revealed what was inside. Or _who_ was inside.

Accessing surveillance had been impossible from his hiding place, and there was no telling if Starfleet was already at his heels, but inside the room there could be _anyone_. Passengers checking for their luggage. A cook getting new supplies. Someone who wasn’t _involved_.

But it was too late now. He had to take the chance and before he could reconsider, Khan entered the code. The lights were activated upon the opening of the door and he exhaled. No one was inside.

Just looking at the labeling in passing, Khan scanned for any kind of content that would suit him, and in the second row, he made a find. He would have preferred something with more liquid, but nutri-paks had always been a good way to avoid starvation.

He gritted his teeth and rejected every memory the food brought up, and instead ripped open the small container and one of the boxes inside. First stuffing his jacket’s pockets with the bars, he then fastened the jacket’s inner elastic around the waist and closed the zipper halfway to drop the remainder of the box’s content into the space that had formed.

He was just about to reach down for another box when he heard the main door open. In his panic to hide, he dropped to the floor and almost pushed over the container.

“I told Stevens that there aren’t any spaces left in the decontamination section,” a male voice said and Khan felt cold sweat break out. Two or three steps and they would see him. If he was lucky, he could reach them and render them unconscious before they alerted anyone. And if not?

“I don’t care if they’re decontaminated, you hear me?” a second man replied. “I need those containers back on Earth to haul’m up again, and pronto. There’s no time for a delay!”

“That transport ship hasn’t got force fields in its storage,” the other one interjected.

“Gimme a break, okay? Who cares?” There was a pause and Khan held his breath.

“Alright, alright,” the first man conceded. “But I want that shit out of here _tonight_ , okay?”

Steps, the swish of the door – and they were gone. Khan dared to breathe again. A close call, like so many before. The slightest turn of his luck and he would have been exposed. Or worse, there would have been a confrontation…

Automatically, he stood up, zipped up his jacket and opened the door. Without checking his surroundings, he marched out of the storeroom and down the hallway to the shaft. Inside of it, he took a short break, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand. He absolutely needed to return to his hiding place. Far away from soldiers and scanners!

On the promenade, Khan had the impression that he was constantly running into people and even their muttered excuses sent his fear spiralling. He could feel their eyes on him even when he had already left the highly frequented main hallway.

With trembling hands, he opened the door to the maintenance tunnel and when he had switched every latch to lock it again, he felt safer. He crawled forward until he reached the first ladder, sliding down the rails and barely touching the rungs to make his journey faster. Had there been a noise and voices in the tunnel he had just left? Alarmed, he hurried on, half on his knees, half pushing himself off with his feet. Two more tubes and ladders, a hatch, the vent…without noticing anything around him, he rushed onward until he finally leaned against the door to _his_ room.

His practiced fingers managed what his brain could not process anymore, and when the door slid shut, Khan grabbed the nearest conduit.

_Breathing. Regular breathing. And control of the heart rate._

Willing his body to do his bidding, Khan subdued his panic, blinking away the last remnant of his spasm of fear. He had more important things to do.

Fiddling with his zipper first, he pulled it down with too much force when it got stuck, the nutri-paks plopping onto the floor like sudden muddy rainfall. Khan peeled himself out of the jacket, the chill in his limbs multiplying instantly. He couldn’t really remember when he had last felt warm. Wearily, he slumped down the wall beside the heap of his jacket and the food and in the dim light of the emergency sign, he unwrapped one of the nutri-paks. Unhurriedly, he guided its content to his mouth.

 _One bite. Not more,_ he commanded himself and the first taste of the smooth mass already let such sensory overload explode on his tongue that he drew a startled breath. Sweetness, a hint of some fruit – cranberry, he presumed – and a base of proteins and carbohydrates that each cell of his body directly identified as the answer to all of its cravings. Another bite, and his taste buds proved that they didn’t mind adapting to the onslaught.

Perhaps eating one of it faster than advisable wouldn’t do much harm? Khan wondered, but then the wrapping of another bar was already rustling although he was still chewing. Just one, two maybe?

Khan watched his fingers perform the same task, over and over again. Fascinated by the slight reflections of the foil, he opened one wrapping after the other, his mind completely blanking out what was happening around him. He only knew that something finally lost its grip on him, relieving him even more than the safety of the room could.

Just very slowly, his mind won the upper hand – once again spurred on by his dreaded body. He was starting to feel sick and the chewing and swallowing became increasingly difficult. There had to be a way to put an end to this, but how?

Failing to get his fingers under control and the last bar he had opened still in hand, Khan heaved himself up and stumbled to one of the pipes. He downed the content of the glass standing under it and the taste of metal and salt mingled so disgustingly with the mass in his mouth that he gagged.

More nauseous than before, he bent down to grab one of the empty foils and rewrapped the bar he was still holding. At least the urge to wolf down more food had subsided and his brain granted him full access again, so bits and pieces of what had happened in the previous hour came back to him. There had been something else of importance before the promise of food overrode everything.

Pacing the room, Khan dug backward in time. The promenade? No, before that, in the cargo bay. The two men in the storeroom had discussed something meaningful and slowly, Khan worked though his over-sugared memories.

A transport! That was what their quarrel had been about. Empty, contaminated containers were sent to Earth to quickly return with new resources the war could devour.

Khan rubbed his face and breathed in. A contaminated cargo bay. Perfect for hiding as it was impossible for the crew to enter without special protection, he thought to himself, unsuccessfully quelling the memory of the last time he had used radiation as a means to conceal his presence. As if to mock him, Kirk’s face appeared right along the impressions of the Enterprise’s cargo bay.

Kirk hadn’t let himself be fooled back then, Khan thought to himself. “Unlike later,” he sneered, addressing the wall. _The High Command’s pet._ Just by chance the news had gotten through to him, filtering down to the empty part of the galaxy where he was still searching for his crew, chasing after each small hint. A cursed wild goose chase.

 _But at least I didn’t forget my mission,_ Khan thought. In contrast to Kirk, who had just needed two years after the outbreak of the war to become what was to be expected. A champion, or better: The Hero of Theta Four Nine. Starfleet’s prize soldier at last and as a reward, they had showered him with medals.

The moment Khan had read the short note – two years and fifty-five days ago – his mind had simply shut a door. Had let the memory of Kirk fade and stopped listening to the voice telling him that after the mission was completed, after everyone was safe, there could be something else. A life.

 _What a preposterous idea._ Khan shook his head. There was no life. Everything and everyone would just pale and vanish. Including himself.

He closed his eyes and allowed the images of a year ago to return: stones at the fringe of an endless desert. The wind tearing at his clothes, its noise the only sound. He was walking, his feet sinking in and the sand gently coaxing him downward where he belonged, next to the bodies rotting under him, his skin cast off and all that was left of him just bones that would eventually be blown away.

Peaceful at last. Not on the run, hungry, or locked up anymore.

 _But on Earth, at least the last one would end._ Khan blinked, dazzled by the unexpectedly hopeful thought. It was right, though, even if his cloaking device failed, he wouldn’t be exposed as a human if he kept away from civilization hubs. He wouldn’t need to live in an almost-prison and could hide in a remote place, provided he made it out of the space harbor.

A week’s journey without anything to drink? But he had food and there was a chance that he survived the radiation. The device cloaking his bio signals was a weakness as he would surely be uncovered if it failed. But if it didn’t?

He activated the control panel and checked which vessel the two men had most likely talked about. The _Sindiq_ , Khan reckoned, at docking port seven. It was scheduled to leave for San Francisco in five hours, which was enough time to develop a reasonably promising plan to get on the ship. San Francisco as such was far from a perfect destination, with the amount of Starfleet personnel amassing in it, but if the flurry of activity was anywhere near the haste that the two men showed, there was a chance to get off the ship.

And five years ago, there had been enough neglected parts of the city that would provide shelter at first. Of course if those areas still existed, and De Luca’s Secret Police hadn’t cleaned up everywhere in the name of what was officially becoming the UFP under Earth control. Or _protection_ , as propaganda had it.

 _De Luca_ … Khan traced all the negative emotions that name evoked until he found the darkest, most hidden one. If there was anything resembling a mission left in his life, it was his final confrontation with that man. Not that it would happen, as well-protected as De Luca surely was. But the mere thought would help enduring the journey to Earth.

Khan picked up his jacket and put it on. Then he stuffed the remaining nutri-paks into the pockets, simultaneously wondering what he was doing. Because in the end, it didn’t matter if the plan he devised worked out – humanity was stampeding through the galaxy and it was just a question of time until it was his turn to be overrun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and kisses and candles for my lovely beta, NurseDarry!


	3. Chapter 3

_Beeping_ … but what were those other noises? Jim wanted to connect to reality, but his body refused the attempts. _Wrong!_ flitted through Jim’s mind. _All of it!_ He was lying on his back … but why? He needed to get up immediately!

Command after command was fired from his synapses, yet his limbs didn’t move.

Another noise. And then a voice which was much too near! Dangerously, deadly near!

Jim mobilized his entire strength, but opening his eyes was already a marathon. In the bright light blinding him, he could see shadows moving. _They’re coming!_ he thought, panicking, and then hands already gripped his shoulders, sending Jim into a state of complete terror. He clenched his fists and forced himself to sit up, bumping into something with his ribs before he reached an upright position. Flinching because he expected it to hurt like hell – why didn’t it hurt? – Jim lashed out in uncoordinated movements when even more hands landed out him, pressing down his upper body.

More strange sounds. Someone was shouting, but what was he shouting?

Not _he._ A _woman,_ Jim thought and listened, accelerating the information’s slow path through his brain.

“Captain!”

The word had a strangely soothing effect, yet not enough to override the impulse to fight.

A cold feeling at his throat, a zing – and then his body gave up. _Was that a hypospray?_ Jim wondered.

Like a small child, he let himself be placed on the bed again and simultaneously his vision cleared. Without the overtaxing impressions, it was possible to perceive the surroundings for what they were: a treatment room, instruments, and monitors.

A middle-aged woman stepped into Jim’s line of sight and she smiled reassuringly, brown hair falling in her face. Jim blinked. He had seen right. She was wearing a Starfleet uniform.

He slowly turned his head to both sides. Two young male nurses were standing by, probably expecting to step in and restrain him in case he psyched out again.

 _No threat,_ his brain finally assessed and allowed itself the first reprieve in eons. Jim inhaled and closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling that he didn’t have to be vigilant for once. The moment his control slipped, though, his breath hitched and he exhaled in a stutter – because he remembered. 

He had been in prison just a moment ago! Then three young officers had gotten him out of the cell and to a point where they could be beamed up to a ship. Yet he hadn’t wanted to go. Ennehl had to come with them, regardless of what he had done, and Jim had resisted leaving until one of the three men who had carried out the rescue mission connected a device to a panel and gained access to the prison database.

Ennehl was dead. Executed right after he had given Jim away. Forgetting the excruciating pain and danger, Jim had implored the team to take someone else with them, at least one of the others who hadn’t instantly wowed to kill Jim. That chickenshit of a Bolian, or the whacky Klingon, _anyone_!

But the officers had other orders it seemed because suddenly, amid the urgent whispered discussion, Jim’s world had ceased to exist.

 _They stunned me, those bastards!_ Jim thought angrily. But how had they found him in the first place? He hadn’t managed to send a signal…

Before he could delve into the matter further, a tricorder appeared in front of his eyes.

“The effect of the tranquilizer will wear off in a minute,” the woman said, more to herself at first. Then she looked up. “I’m Doctor Oliver, by the way. Welcome back, Captain Kirk.”

The title again – but it felt as if it had lost its effect, especially as the doctor was still too near, hovering over him. Jim was thankful when the paralyzing effect in his legs wore off and he could sit, choosing the opposite side of where the doctor was standing.

“How long have I been here?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“On this ship? Fifteen days,” Oliver said.

Jim turned around. “Fifteen?”

“You were in a very poor medical condition when you arrived,” Oliver said. “So we put you in a coma and helped your body along a little.” She was visibly proud when she continued to explain. “I had to slowly replace all your bone matter because malnutrition had clearly taken its toll. The same was done with your blood, and as a parasite had destroyed part of your liver; we re-grew that as well.”

Jim looked down at himself. Gingerly testing his fingers, he realized that there was no pain and nothing was crooked. Even the fingernail he had chipped off in the mine was back. It felt … odd, alien even, and his arms were nothing but stretches of smooth skin, the multiple burns all gone.

Irritated, Jim pulled the gown to the front, exposing his upper body. It was the same picture there: no scars, not even a trace of them. Not of the stab wound on his stomach that had almost killed him, or the scratch marks of the fire wolf one of the guards had kept as a pet.

Feeling his face, Jim was surprised to find his beard still in place. Shorter, yes, but still there. Why they had left him this particular souvenir of prison when they had erased everything else was beyond him. They had painstakingly tried to wipe out the past, so this seemed like a lapse on their part.

He heard the doctor clear her throat. _What does she want?_ Jim felt his jaws working. _My thanks for giving me an all brand new shell?_

“Well, Captain, if you still feel any discomfort, I hope you tell me, so we can repair any possibly remaining damage,” she said and Jim closed his eyes, suppressing the need to smash something.

“You wish,” he snarled.

“I…”

“Can you get me some clothes?” Jim barked at one of the nurses. He hated his ugly voice, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt close to exploding. If he had to deal with more success stories that involved his body, it would be the end of a lot of useful devices around him, including one or two monitors. He breathed in. “Sorry, Doctor,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “I need to get up.”

“Take it slow, Captain,” she said while he slipped into the plain blue trousers the taller of the nurses handed him.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, pushing himself off the bed. His legs were just slightly wobbly. “Could you hand me a PADD?” He grabbed the shirt and the young man dashed to a counter, returning with a relatively small version of a PADD. Jim inspected it, considering the changes since he last had held one. “I’m gonna stretch my legs,” he announced and walked out of the room faster than he knew was advisable. But fuck the doctor’s feeble protests, he couldn’t stay for one minute longer.

In the corridor, he immediately felt better. The anger still simmered somewhere, but it was at least contained for the moment. He consciously breathed in and briefly, he thought that he had lost his sense of smell entirely. No stink of feces and rotting flesh amounted to, well, nothing at all.

 _Prison can do that._ Jim huffed out a laugh. But how much of prison was necessary to cancel out everything that his body had perceived as normal?

He activated the PADD and the display was merciless, beaming the star date at him in white against black. _Almost two years._

It took a moment to digest that piece of information, and then Jim carefully filed it away to contemplate on some other day. Instead, he checked the layout of the ship and walked to a common room. There he would find what he had really missed.

The door opened and one glimpse had his mind already assemble the formations he saw, creating a bigger picture.

 _Stars._ And planets too! 

Jim touched the window pane and almost expected to feel the rough surface of Mars. Wiping away a stinging in his eyes, he stared at the darkness that signaled him his way home. Tiny dots that couldn’t have been more perfect, except for the fact that they were only half of the picture.

With a sinking feeling, he drew his eyes away from the window. What about Earth? Who would be waiting for him there?

His hand was gripping the PADD so hard that Jim was afraid it would break. Impatiently, he searched the databases and after long minutes, he found his former crew’s names. But that was it. The information about them was classified. Spock, Scotty, Uhura…even that fucking baby Chekov was on a mission important enough to hide all his data.

Just Bones’ deployment was public and he would even be in reach for the usual communication channels in a few days. And the others? Were they on the same kind of suicide mission that had seen him end to that Klingon hellhole?

He let his hand sink and looked outside. The moon rose only to set again moments later when the ship entered the space dock, and if on cue, the door behind him opened.

“We’ll be arriving soon, Captain.”

It was Oliver. Jim inhaled, turning around. “Thank you, Doctor. Also for your efforts.”

Someone who didn’t know him would believe his word and Oliver also did. Or she didn’t – Jim couldn’t say because her smile was too professional.

“I advise you to see a counsellor, Captain,” she said. “There are a lot of distinguished experts specialized in survivors of war captivity.”

Jim snorted. _No surprise,_ he thought, but kept up at least a semblance of a smile. “I will seek out someone in my neighborhood.”

 _Which is where exactly?_ Jim wondered when Oliver left him with a curt nod. One of the nurses waited at the door and Jim followed him, activating the PADD again while they were walking toward the exit. San Francisco was his destination, no surprise, and he discovered he’d be living just a couple of blocks away from his former apartment.

Before he could search for more information, the nurse stopped and held out his hand for the PADD.

“Sir?” the man said, pointing at some place behind Jim. “May I introduce you…”

Jim turned around.

“Cimus,” another man said, extending his hand. “Paul Cimus, CC Security.”

Shaking his hand, Jim tried to work out what kind of uniform his new carer was wearing. It was certainly not of a Starfleet section that Jim knew. Before he could ask anything, Cimus had already marched away and Jim followed him grudgingly. Perhaps in the shuttle he could needle the man.

But it turned out that Cimus steered the miniscule shuttle himself, providing Jim with a private escort and expecting him to stay on the passenger side of the vessel – if the locked door was an indication. They zipped through the atmosphere and down to Earth, not even giving Jim enough time to study the skyline before they landed on the top of a building. The door opened and Cimus was already waiting outside.

“Your biometric data is in the system,” he said. “It will provide access to your apartment with the number 1825. The boxes are already out of storage. Have a good day, Captain.”

Jim still had problems adapting to the sun, blinking and squinting, to make out more than contours, but Cimus didn’t even wait long enough for Jim to return his goodbye. Flabbergasted, Jim watched the shuttle speed off again and then he gingerly made his way to the door of the roof. It opened upon his approach and when closing, the lift sent him on with a repulsively cheerful _“eighteenth floor”._

As if in a trance, Jim walked along the hallway until he found the right door, which of course recognized him immediately.

 _This is my home after all,_ Jim scoffed inwardly when he saw the boxes he had packed more than four years ago. He checked the wardrobe and found an array of uniforms that looked slightly different from his old ones.

Expecting the view from the window to uplift him somehow, he reacquainted himself with the city. Traffic had increased, there were some new buildings … his eyes wandered until he lost focus, but he only realized it when the sun started setting. Still not hungry, he took the few steps to the bed and let himself drop on the mattress.

No, this wouldn’t work. With a sigh, he rolled onto the floor and curled up, the bed frame in his back.

 

***

The first night, he really slept.

But already on the second night, he had to concede that a day of roaming the city wasn’t enough to tire him. There were too many soldiers, too much glass and steel – no matter what, it was all too much, and Jim actively stopped paying attention to his surroundings.

Sport wasn’t an option as after two years of forced labor, running in circles just for the sake of it seemed ludicrous. So he left the building to find a calming buzz, preferably in the form of real alcohol, but the usual sources had dried out completely, making it necessary to venture far away from his quarters. After he had finally found a run-down bar, he felt more at home than in any of the places he had been on Earth until then. This would become the focal point of his daily rhythm.

A rhythm was good. He needed that.

Getting up in the afternoon, getting drunk, returning to the apartment’s floor – all of it seemed like a feasible course of action, especially as it was improving his condition, he told himself when in the fourth night, he managed to sleep on the couch.

The sedative stupor was so reassuring that when on the fifth day of his return, when the comm system ripped him out of it, blaring at him that it was noon and he had a message, he immediately recoiled.

 _“Your presence is required at twenty hundred hours tonight,”_ the system blathered on. _“You will be awarded a medal for bravery by the Central Command. Uniform is required and service to the headquarters will be provided.”_

“Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch!” Jim shouted. Service? But at least he now knew what the ominous CC meant. So the military council had obviously undergone some changes. 

And that _service_ equaled _security_ became clear when Cimus stood in front of Jim’s door at seven thirty sharp. If it was possible, the man was even more taciturn than the first time he had accompanied Jim, but something ran up red flags in Jim’s mind when Cimus looked around or reached into his jacket.

Yet again, the journey was not long enough to come to a real conclusion on what was going on, and just like on his arrival on Earth, Jim was pushed into the light – although it was artificial this time. On the giant podium Cimus had ushered him onto, Jim stood in line with four younger men while some admiral he didn’t know gave a speech about heroism and enduring hardships and a lot of other crap.

There was no microphone or communicator for Jim and the only diversion was a pretty young officer who tottered to him and pinned another medal onto his uniform. A crescendo of applause, and the other four left as if some invisible force pulled their strings.

 _What the fuck?_ Jim looked around and saw Cimus waving for him to get off the stage. _So that was it?_

Jim’s hands balled into fists. That’s what this whole thing came down to! Rescuing him, bringing him here – all of it had just one purpose: the military council needed a show of success! Maybe they had known where he had been all along, letting him seethe in his own blood before fishing him out again when it was convenient.

His pulse drummed in his ears and attentively, Jim studied the faces he could see despite the light. De Luca wasn’t among them, at least not in the first row. Perhaps in the back? Steps were nearing from behind, so he had to speed up.

“I blame it on an oversight on your part, so let me make something clear again.” Cimus’s voice was almost unrecognizable when he was hissing. “You have to leave the stage. _Now_.”

Jim let himself be led behind the curtain, but then immediately broke away from the firm grip.

“Sir, you have to follow me,” Cimus said calmly.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Jim gave back. He quickly stepped backward when Cimus reached out for him. “I suggest you keep your hands off me.”

 _Let’s see if you drop the pretense,_ Jim thought warily when Cimus’s hand snatched his upper arm. Jim wrenched free and the exact moment he did, his opponent reached into his jacket. _Bingo,_ Jim confirmed inwardly. A concealed phaser.

“That’s how the night’s gonna end?” Jim asked. “You shoot me because I want to take a piss?”

Challenging Cimus with a look of feigned innocence, Jim waited until the man relaxed marginally.

“The second door on the left,” Cimus ground out and narrowed his eyes. “I will wait for you.”

Jim entered the restroom and used the first thing he came to keep himself upright. Clinging to the disinfection unit as if someone had thrown him a lifeline, he tried to get a grip on his adrenaline high. He shouldn’t look in a mirror, he decided, because he surely wouldn’t recognize himself, as intense as his anger was.

Why had he let himself be used like that? He should have seen through this charade long ago! And what the hell was happening on Earth?

Jim compressed his lips. If he had cared to look closely, he would have seen that the so-called Central Command had left its imprint everywhere. And the fact that his old crew was scattered all over the universe wasn’t a coincidence either. He was isolated. Alone.

Rubbing his eyes didn’t really help him to concentrate again, but he couldn’t stay in the restroom forever. He squared his shoulders and stepped outside. A few meters away from the door Cimus was still waiting, and Jim leisurely sauntered towards him. Simultaneously, a throng of people in the same uniforms as Cimus crossed the hallway, a tall Vulcan walking in their middle – again someone Jim didn’t know.

“Why the sour face, Cimus?” Jim asked. “You want one of those fancy tin medals, like I got? Or is it because I didn’t let you sneak a peek at the family jewels?”

He raised an eyebrow and Cimus glowered as if he wanted to kill Jim on the spot – no match for the death glares Jim had endured in the previous years, though. On the way home, Jim almost felt as if he had scored a victory, but in his apartment, hollowness was all that remained.

Cimus was just an errand boy.

 _A bit like me,_ Jim thought and took off the uniform. Instead of changing into something presentable, he dressed in his shabbiest jeans and threw on his old leather jacket. It was time to get his hands on large quantities of liquor.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my sunshine NurseDarry (in times of almost constant rain)...


	4. Chapter 4

Blindly, Khan felt for the water hose. He put his head back and opened the nozzle enough so that the water would flow gently into his mouth. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour that he had last drunk something. It wasn’t enough, though, and it felt as if he would never feel anything else but parched in his life.

The radiation sickness, the escape from the terminal by a hair – it didn’t compare to nearly dying of thirst. The food had kept his body’s reactions at bay at the beginning, but then the sweet bars had made it even worse, the sugar extracting what was left of the water in his cells.

Forcing himself to stop before he would be sick again, Khan leaned back against the wooden planks that formed the makeshift walls of his abandoned shack. It was a stroke of luck that he had ended up here, although generally, his instincts had been right and the area around Pier 70 was perfect for him: a conglomeration of abandoned or self-built shanties that either had been the home of someone stranded on Earth in the early days of intergalactic exchange, or had belonged to a human who hadn’t fit into Earth’s utilitarianism.

But there hadn’t really been time to consider alternatives, and what was worse, he hadn’t even checked if the cloaking devices were still functioning. Instead, he had just left the terminal in a mad rush, following his inner map until the leaning walls of the tiny houses had embraced him. Here it was possible to swipe a can of whatever beverage the population of the area preferred – beer, it seemed.

The small easing of his thirst had bridged the gap between arriving on the pier and finding the shack – a mere hut which had no electricity, no bed or chair, nothing. But it had running water and that was all he needed to gather strength again.   

The lack of heating didn’t matter in the late summer. The scarcity of food was more important as it was still hard to come by for someone without a biometric credit code. And not to forget the military that was even infiltrating this quarter. At least the cloaking devices were still working as he found out when he was able to think straight again.

So not attracting attention was his main task once more, but how hard could it be in a city that was swarming with the agents of the Central Command?

 _Just a couple of days,_ Khan thought, got up and pulled the shirt he had been wearing for a month now over his head. Once he regained his full strength, he could leave the city, risk times of hunger and thirst without immediately dropping dead on some godforsaken back road in the desert. Perhaps he should not go south but head for the mountains?

Khan shook his head. First things first. At the moment he just had to lay low and unenthusiastically, he pulled off his trousers and even dared to take off the shoes. With a bit of luck, no drones would be circling the area within the next ten minutes.

He turned on the water again and squatted next to the hose that was barely long enough to reach his head. When the cold hit his scalp and shoulders, Khan gave an involuntary shudder, but his skin quickly became used to the water. He put the hose on the ground, letting the water flow into the large cracks in the wooden floor where solitary plants were reaching through.

Avoiding standing out also meant maintaining a certain degree of hygiene, Khan reminded himself and hesitantly uncapped the bottle of detergent he had found in the shed, but already the first contact with the liquid stung. _Too much chloride,_ Khan assessed and quickly spread the chemicals on his body. The prickling became almost unbearable in seconds and hectically, he grabbed the hose and rinsed himself. But his hair needed some kind of treatment, too, so he hedged his bet and applied water and detergent at the same time, diluting the solution to keep it from blinding him in case it got into his eyes.

When he was finished, he got up and squeezed out his hair, rubbing the long curls with a shirt afterward. He had not managed to get his hands on a lot of clothes as the bag he stole had mainly contained shirts and trousers, and no towels. But the dark clothes were exactly what he needed to blend in in this neighborhood.

The black hooded sweater to conceal his face had been a by-product of a tour to find food, and it proved a lot easier to come by than to find a new jacket. Yet on the previous day he also procured one, an ugly field blouse that looked like it had belonged to an official uniform. Men and women alike seemed to prefer them – probably to give the impression of belonging to the military, although no one in these quarters did. Granted, they were sturdy and the cloaking device was easy to conceal under the collar, but wearing such a jacket felt plainly wrong.

It served its purpose, though, making him more invisible than the holo-cloaking could ever manage.

Khan dressed in the rest of the fresh clothes and lurked through the crack of the door. There was only little residual light and the rush hour for this particular neighborhood was about to start. The people here seemed to prefer the night, which suited him just fine as more people roaming the narrow streets meant more cover for him, and increased business for the small restaurants and bars. And less vigilant patrons.

Khan mentally visualized his surroundings. There was a kiosk a little way down the street, and pocketing one of the candy bars sold there was relatively easy. But something else – real food – would be better now. Something with fat and protein. And salt.

Any kitchen he planned to enter had to be at a greater distance to his hiding place, Khan decided, and opened the door to quickly step away from the entrance. About a kilometer away from his shed there was a bar with a relatively unsecured kitchen. He had already managed to sneak into it and snatch some meat.

Weaving into the never-ending stream of passers-by who populated the main street with most businesses, he let himself be carried along by the people until it was time to take a sharp right turn. In the dark alley, he looked out for the large garbage bins that indicated the backdoor of the bar, and he didn’t have to wait long for his chance. Only after a couple of minutes, the door opened and an old man hobbled outside to unlock the dumpster and throw a bag into it. Khan breathed once and then dashed toward the door, catching it before it clicked shut again.

Briefly collecting himself before he proceeded, he worked through his mental list. Check surroundings, hide, retreat if necessary.

He straightened. This had worked once. He knew what to expect.

Cautiously, he listened for any kind of commotion behind the door, but the voices were far away, so he slunk through the crack. At the end of a long dark hallway there were the kitchen and storerooms on opposite sides, and if he was lucky, one of the storerooms would be unlocked.

He was just about to start his path down the hallway when loud voices sounded from the other side of the door. They were approaching fast and before Khan could form any kind of plan, he heard the characteristic beep of an accepted keycard. There was just one way – straight on, past the kitchen and through the door leading to the bar. Khan started to march, making sure it didn’t look like he was running and he opened the swing door without much momentum in case someone was behind it.

There was music at the end of the hallway. Restrooms right and left. Three men were approaching, but they would pass him without difficulty, he thought, when suddenly, the second man veered to the middle of the hallway, barging into Khan.

“Sorry,” the man mumbled and squeezed past Khan, looking up for a fraction of a moment – just long enough to make sure the apology was accepted – and then he was gone.

For a couple of meters, Khan was able to follow his envisioned escape route and rein in the impossible thought. Because it _was_ impossible! Then his steps became slower, his legs struggling on until he had reached the main room of the bar. It was packed with people and Khan leaned against the nearest wall, the music and the chatter washing over him.

 _Impossible_. Except there was no doubt. The man who had so casually brushed past him had really been Kirk.

Khan felt for the device in his collar. The look had made it clear that Kirk hadn’t recognized him. Had just bumped into him and clocked him as a stranger in a corridor.

So there was no danger, was it? In whatever function Kirk was here, or for whatever reason he had chosen to spend his free time in a joint like this instead of a club for the rich and ruthless – all of it was solely Kirk’s business.

 _And the sooner I’m out of here, the better,_ Khan scoffed inwardly. If Starfleet’s finest turned up at this bar, he should steer clear of it in the future.

But what had brought Kirk to this place? Khan willed away all the other questions that resurfaced, keeping track of his increased heart rate at the same time. This wasn’t the moment he would lose control. Not because of _him_.

Assessing the situation, Khan decided that if he had already made it inside the bar, he should take the chance and benefit from it. Or better, from other people’s negligence.

Scanning for the most promising target, he finally spotted a man who was just about to pick up a giggling brunette. They both had already had plenty of drinks, and taking one of the two almost full glasses in passing was easy. Someone at the bar left his stool and after making sure that the area was as ill-lit as the rest of the room, Khan sat down, holding on to his glass more firmly than necessary.

Whether he wanted it or not, he had to take a break. Collecting himself for the remainder of the drink was obviously necessary, as otherwise he wouldn’t make it out of the bar undetected. The bouncer at the entrance had a keen eye out for anything out of the ordinary. So in a minute a two, when his fingers had stopped cramping and his breathing had evened out, he’d leave.

“Sorry I ran into you back there.”

 _That voice!_ There was shuffling to his left when a stool was moved. A knee grazed Khan’s.

 _Still perceptive,_ shot through Khan’s mind. “No problem,” Khan muttered, his voice constrained. What was going on? Had Kirk recognized him after all? Peering to the side, Khan risked a longer gaze. The beard was new, but everything else looked _Kirk_. Only marginally hardened features, grey streaks in his beard and hair. And what was more important: no sign of recognition whatsoever. _Mild disinterest,_ at best. 

“Must’ve lost my manners at some point,” Kirk said to the counter, but it was clear that he wanted to talk. And talk was dangerous, Khan decided, so staying was not an option. He needed to leave. Immediately.

“War does that,” Khan rasped in the fake voice from before. Now was a chance to knock back the beer and walk away with a muttered goodbye. He looked to the side again and saw Kirk still staring at the bar. Like he was waiting for it to reveal some universal secret. “You were on a mission?” Khan asked and he snatched his hand away from his glass because it would have broken in his hard grasp. What was he thinking? He should _stop_ the conversation, not carry it on!

Slowly, Kirk turned to the side and Khan forced himself to hold the critical gaze that was now directed at him. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

 _Not one of your war hero idolizing groupies, sorry,_ Khan thought and shook his head, earning a bitter laugh in return.

“Then let’s just say, I was on a _very secret_ mission,” Kirk said conspiratorially, his voice laced with irony. “Quite detrimental to civilized conduct, the whole thing.” He signaled the bartender to bring him two of the same as Khan had. “And now I wanna drink. You’re my guest to keep up appearances of sociability.”

Khan quickly finished his stolen drink and then watched surreptitiously how Kirk took a long swig.

“Yeah, that’s more like it.” Kirk exhaled in a satisfied groan. “I’ve definitely earned that.”

“Rough day?” Khan asked and Kirk barked out a laugh.

“Not rough. Nah, a fucking nightmare.” He snorted derisively. “A sugar-coated, highly decorated nightmare.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Khan sipped on his beer and tried to make sense of the gibberish Kirk was spouting. Obviously not everything was perfect in the glossy world of Starfleet. No surprise here.

“You know what? Fuck them all.” Kirk emptied his glass. “Barkeep? Gimme something stronger. Whiskey. And make it a double!” He turned to Khan who just who just shook his head at the silent offer. “And another beer!” Kirk added for the man behind the counter.

Marveling at the speed with which Kirk downed the spirits he had ordered and the following one, Khan wondered for a moment if the man really was Kirk after all. Obviously he couldn’t hold his liquor very well as the muttering of profanities became slightly slurred after the second glass of whiskey. So the drinking wasn’t a steady habit, but the undirected snarling and swearing didn’t sound a lot like the old Kirk.

But who had that Kirk been after all? And he still _looked_ like him. Apart from the beard, the man was bewilderingly repulsively similar to the Kirk of four years ago – as if there was no war raging on.

Khan couldn’t shake a kind of morbid fascination for the sheer insanity of it all. He shouldn’t be surprised, though, should he? Kirk had joined the ranks of the people he had initially opposed, and life went well for those who simply sent the soldiers to battle. Yet for some reason, Kirk had landed in this dump together with the scum of the city…

“There’s something about you that’s familiar,” Khan heard and he blinked, his eyes regaining the focus they had lost. Kirk was studying him inquisitively. “It’s not your ugly face, no offence.”

Khan shook his head. “None taken.” He looked straight on and took a sip.

“You know what? I like your style,” Kirk said and chuckled. “Not too generous with words.”

“These are not the times to be talkative,” Khan retorted. “You could be a CCS spy, for all I know.”

“A what? Oh, yeah. And that from the man with the hood,” Kirk said. “So why exactly do I look like one?”

Khan briefly glanced to the side. “No signs of hard or dangerous work on your skin, especially your hands. Trimmed beard, enough money to pay for drinks. Yet you’re … here.” He made a vague gesture toward the other half of the room.

Kirk huffed out a laugh that sounded a bit amused. The first almost-real laugh of the night. “Yeah, outer appearances can be deceiving.”

Khan’s blood ran cold for a moment before he was convinced that Kirk referred to himself. A short spell of silence in which, going by his fingers’ fiddling with a coaster, Kirk was contemplating something.

“Recently, I haven’t spoken to many people,” Kirk said and paused again. “You’re the first, to be honest.”

“Not exactly spy material,” Khan assessed.

“Fuck no,” Kirk answered, his chuckle a relaxed rumble. “Not my line of work. Never been. But at least I’m catching up on social behavior, it seems.”

“Well, then I count myself lucky,” Khan said.

“We’ll see who gets luck-...” Kirk stopped short. He appeared to be startled by his retort, as if it had been some automatic reaction he hadn’t seen coming. “Sorry, pal, old habits.”

Khan trained his eyes on the small puddle of beer at the bottom of his glass. This was the Kirk he knew. The always-up-for-banter Kirk. The man who flaunted his sexuality when he felt like it. The carefree man.

“Interested in calling in the investment you made?” Everything in Khan screamed that this was the wrong turn. That Kirk served criminals and that an aborted pick-up line could never cancel out his actions. And that whatever strange intimacy their conversation had created, it was as fake as his own face.

The glass was taken away and Khan’s eyes were boring into the counter.

“You offerin’?” he heard.

 _Am I?_ He shrugged, unable to say no. When had he ever said no to Kirk?

“Not much in it for you, though,” Kirk muttered and got up. Khan shrugged again.

“Restroom. In a minute,” was the last thing Kirk said and Khan peeked up from under his hood, seeing Kirk grab a small bottle of oil from one of the tables. Now would be the perfect moment to leave, not even a goodbye or an excuse were necessary, but Khan knew he wouldn’t take the chance.

So which Kirk would he meet now? Khan wondered on his way. Who would wait behind the cubicle's door that stood slightly less ajar than the others?

A hand grabbed Khan’s arm before he had even stepped into the tiny room.

“Took your sweet time.”

The pull became a push and Khan subdued every instinct that prompted him to fight back and instead let himself be slammed face-first into the partition wall.

So it was _this_ Kirk again. Not the biggest surprise of the evening.

Quickly, Khan assessed his surroundings, but whatever would happen now, the weak black light of the room distorted Kirk’s perception enough. So if he…

“I guess we know each other well enough to take that off.”

The hood was pulled from Khan’s head and simultaneously fingers wormed their way into Khan’s trousers. 

“You smell like a room full of goddamn cleaning agent,” Kirk murmured, his hot breath on Khan’s nape.

“Is that … a problem?”

“Hell no,” Kirk growled and pulled down Khan’s trousers with a practiced movement. Not a second later two oily fingers breached Khan’s entrance and Khan gritted his teeth, compelling his body to adapt. The slight push backward was obviously seen as an invitation for a third finger.

“You do this often?” Kirk asked. Cautiously? Wondering? Khan was unable to tell.

“Doesn’t matter, just go on,” Khan rasped and then sucked in a breath when Kirk sank in to the hilt with one deep shove. “I can take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for the speed-betaing, NurseDarry!


	5. Chapter 5

_God… Too tight…too fucking tight!_ Jim buried his face in the long damp curls. That damn detergent…

He inhaled regardless, and before he could pin down the underlying smell, the guy wiggled his ass just slightly, easing the strangling grip around Jim’s dick.

“Fucking _perfect_ ,” Jim breathed. Clutching the man’s hips, he added some needed stability when alcohol and arousal threatened to become too dizzying a mixture, and with some effort, he blocked out his surroundings before focusing on his movements. The forbidding resistance of before gone, there was no need to rush, and Jim supported his forehead on the shoulder of the guy to watch himself, fascinated with the strong legs that withstood his increasingly hard shoves. Giving up all restraint, Jim let his hips snap forward, meeting the same compliance as before.

“Now brace yourself, buddy.” Jim’s mind continued with a chant of  y _es…oh yes…_ when the body he was pounding into almost melted into his, anticipating his thrusts, meeting him halfway when he broke the rhythm for a fraction of a second. So greedy, so damn accommodating, what a… “Fuck!” Jim gasped, feeling the rush of his climax nearing dangerously. Nonono, this wasn’t going to end now! Not so fast!

Desperate to rein in the lust thundering on, Jim stilled, his fingers digging into the man’s muscles. He had to last a little bit longer, just a minute, _anything_ he could wrest from his body’s untaxed craving!

Frantically, Jim shook off the sex-haze that had made him almost delirious. Slow and controlled – that was the secret. No more friction than strictly necessary.

Jim’s change of pace didn’t go over well with the man, though, and he tried to speed things up again, driving Jim to distraction. As a last resort, Jim pressed him into the wall, immobilizing him.

“So eager… I like that.” Jim inhaled, registering the decreasing fierceness of the detergent smell. With tiny strokes, he nudged himself on and his dick complied, just allowing for the right amount of excitement to swamp his bloodstream. Two, three, half a dozen shoves and he should be there, the orgasm that had been lurking washing over him. Without hyper-stimulation, he would be able to enjoy what was going on, wouldn’t he?

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to shake the feeling that something was _off_. From one second to the next, his instincts were running havoc and he couldn’t make any sense of them. He needed to take his mind off the situation, get back to the previous thrill. Create a distraction.

“Touch yourself!” he hissed and in an instant, muscles under the jacket were activated. Subdued grunts followed, deep snarls that balanced between aggressive and demure, and they shouldn’t have been sexy at all. Hell, it was all wrong, too fast, too primal and unchecked. For a brief moment Jim thought that he was looking at himself from the outside, but then a switch was flipped that left him at the mercy of what he had so carefully controled until then. He knew he should at least pull out, warn the guy, something that kept the animalistic instincts in check, but he couldn’t, didn’t want to, and was just reduced to shoves that couldn’t be deep enough, his pulse beating out the rhythm he set for his dick when he came.

Thanks to the unflinching strength of the other man, Jim could keep himself on his feet, clinging to the hips for a moment before his muscles supported his wobbling knees again.

“Man, you’re… That was…” Jim started, but he had no idea how to continue. The guy was preoccupied anyway, Jim realized, as the arm was still moving, albeit less vigorously than before, and the groaning had been replaced by heavy breathing, almost as if he didn’t want Jim to notice that he still hadn’t come.

 _I warned him there would not be much in it for him, didn’t I?_ Jim thought and urged himself on to beat a retreat, but something about those warm, heaving shoulders was attractive enough to make the prospect of a sudden exit unbearable.

“Hold on,” Jim growled and hesitantly pulled out before shoving two fingers up the wet hole. Feeling for the right spot, he then pressed on the bundle of nerves mercilessly, giving it just tiny reprieves before he massaged it again.

 _Yeah, got you,_ he thought when the man came with a strangled cough that quickly dissolved into helpless panting. The sturdy frame Jim was leaning on gave way, sagging in a fraction before gaining its steadfastness again. Just to find out what he could achieve, Jim tortured the prostate once more and relished in the instant writhing of the guy. He didn’t seem agonized, though. More like aroused again – which was impossible, of course?

“Damn man,” Jim said and straightened. He pulled out his fingers. “You have a talented ass.” He wiped his hand on his shirt and then quickly stuffed his dick into his underwear. Wordlessly, the guy pulled up his trousers and hood while Jim was waiting for him to turn around and give him some good-natured retort – which never came. The man only turned to the side to open the door, and then he was gone.

Unbelievingly, Jim stared after him. What the hell was going on? What had he–?

“Someone in there?” shouted an unknown voice, and the door was pushed toward Jim who immediately countered the movement and turned the lock. Outside there was a lot of commotion – had it been like that the entire time? – and simultaneously to the noise in the room, Jim became aware of the confined space he was trapped in.

 _It’s all right,_ he told himself, but felt compelled to repeat it over and over again. His hands searched the support of the wall and he felt each indentation as if it was a chasm. What the hell was going on?

Inhaling was futile as the air didn’t want to fit into his lungs.  It was too sticky, too warm and most of all too humid! Panic seized him when his chest couldn’t expand anymore and everything felt constricting, even the walls. Jim blinked. They were moving toward him, weren’t they?

 _Get a fucking grip! You’re in a damn cubicle!_ Jim cursed, trying to force air into his lungs. _It’s all right!_

Almost ripping the lock out of the door, Jim barged out of the small room. He needed space and air, so he had to get out of the bar and into the street! But everywhere his frantic mind steered him there were people – standing in the bar as insurmountable obstacles or roaming the streets, pushing, pulling, shouting.

Jim tried to run, but his feet wouldn’t carry him. Not down the road. Not at all.

Close to passing out, he stumbled into a narrow passage, and there he dared to really open his eyes. The dim light was soothing, not relaying too much information to him.

Exhausted, Jim slid down the nearest wall to sit down on the pavement. The amount of air he managed to get into his lungs was still marginal, but his heart insisted on keeping up an almost maniacal rate. Only very slowly, his pulse decreased its frantic beating and just one synapse at a time, Jim unraveled what had happened. There wasn’t much to ponder on, though, because basically it came down to this: He had had sex with a random guy. It had given him a panic attack.

Jim rubbed his eyes as if it was their fault that his life looked such a mess. Holy crap, after everything he had done and been through in the previous two years, _this_ was giving him a nervous breakdown? Hooking up for casual sex with the guards or an inmate to get as much out of it in as little time as possible had practically been a weekly occurrence in prison. A means to an end.

Jim gritted his teeth. This wasn’t prison anymore. But it hadn’t kept him from treating that guy exactly like he would have treated a convenient fuck hole back then. And damn, that hooded bastard had made it so easy. How he had surrendered, almost begged to be used…

Jim scrambled to his knees, a sudden heaving sending an acid taste to the back of his throat. He swallowed and breathed, forcing his stomach’s content to stay inside. His head started to spin again, but after a while, the most unbearable symptoms subsided.

 _Must be the alcohol,_ Jim decided despite knowing better. He got up and his feet thankfully auto-piloted him home. There, under the jet of the shower, he could almost pretend the last two hours didn’t happen at all. He just had to look down at his body, that testimony of Starfleet’s perfectionism, and it was easy to wipe out the past two _years_.

Yet his head refused to clear and Jim rummaged around the medicine chest, balancing the pros and cons of the different hyposprays. Very thoughtful of Doctor Oliver to equip him with everything that would ensure a flawless performance of yet another puppet.

Just dosing himself to sleep would be easiest, Jim thought and reached out for the spray, grabbing the one next to it instead. _Instant Detox._

When the traces of alcohol and the onset of the hangover vanished, there was a brief moment of relief. Jim looked at himself in the hallway mirror, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, and just that small sign of his general exhaustion swept away any confidence that had stabilized him and instead, the scenes of the evening resurfaced in his mind.

And if they weren't enough, the impressions of the stranger combined themselves with the horror of the previous years. They sent Jim staggering backward against a dresser, his hips painfully connecting with the edge before it served as a welcome support. The treacherous symptoms of before set in again, but Jim consciously fought against the tightness of his chest.

Frantically, he traced back the encounter, looking for unusual aspects that might have triggered his emotional response. Shortly before things went south, there hadn’t been anything special going on, had it? And before that?

_I can take it._

Jim froze. He hadn’t really paid attention to the words that the stranger had pressed out, but now they were strangling him, constricting his windpipe even more than the fit of claustrophobia in the bar’s restroom. He closed his eyes, trying to subdue the memories of G-478 Alpha, but in contrast to what he wanted to achieve, the darkness transported him back even more effectively – to the dim cave, to bodies slick with water and sweat, and Khan’s offering, his plea that urged Jim on. _I can take it._

Breathing against the dizziness in his head, Jim struggled to bury those memories exactly where he’d had hidden them the previous two years. The similarities of the words had been a coincidence, just like the strength of the guy and the matching hair. Subconsciously he had gone for his _type_ again, without even seeing the hair or the body. That pattern had screwed with his mind even before he had been captured and thrown into prison, making his head turn at every curly mop crowning a tall and slender frame – only to come to the realization that it _couldn’t_ be Khan. Because Khan was dead.

Jim opened his eyes and pushed himself off the dresser. Just like in the previous years, bitterness had been the best way to wipe away thoughts that dragged him down. He had needed to let go of the idea that Khan could accomplish almost everything, including cheating death. It had been a matter of survival in prison to finally accept that Khan wouldn’t return, and afterward, it had been a lot easier to live down the fact that _no one_ had come to rescue him.

“Fuck!” he shouted and vented his anger by grabbing a chair and throwing it against the wall. It didn’t do any damage, let alone break, but the dull noises were somewhat satisfying, so Jim grabbed another one, crashing it into the wall with all the force he could muster. It left a dent and Jim felt his rage prickling on his skin, demanding another outlet, so he kicked at the chairs on the floor. “Fuck you all!”

Biting back the tears, Jim swallowed. If he demolished his flat, it wouldn’t bring back the two years. It wouldn’t erase the memories and the guilt and all the other things that he had to blame himself for first of all.

Dejectedly, he let himself drop on the couch. If there was just somebody around, _anyone_! Since his return, it had often felt as if he was the only goddamn human being left on Earth and everything else was some kind of nightmarish parallel universe he had been landed in accidentally.

“Computer? Establish a connection to Doctor Leonard McCoy, USS Santoria,” he said, not expecting his request to have any effect.

“Jim?” The voice was there before the screen was filled with Bones’ dubious face, startling Jim to sit upright. “Jim! Hell, it’s you!” Bones looked as if he wanted to crawl into the monitor. “I can’t believe it! You’re alive, you son of a gun!”

His lethargy blazed away by the ecstatic display of elation, Jim grinned. “Bad weeds grow tall, you see.”

“What the…? They told everyone you were missing in action!” In a millisecond, Bones panted with rage. “We didn’t have any idea where to start searching.”

Missing in action? Now that sounded convenient. And only someone in a very high position could conceal the truth that one of Starfleet’s heroes was a fire wolf chew-toy in a Klingon prison. “Well, now I’m back.”

“How did you–?” Bones began, but Jim just shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter, okay?” he interjected. “The Klingons got me, now I’m out. Let’s leave it at that.”

He knew he had to shake the feeling of betrayal that extended its clutches at him. Because they couldn’t have known, could they? How could they have even had the slightest suspicion that Starfleet was keeping back information? It was impossible, right?

“The others will be out of their minds when they hear you’re back,” Jim heard, clinging to the joy of finally listening to Bones’ voice again. But disappointment sat heavy in his stomach, painting the situation black. After Marcus, after De Luca…they _should_ have known.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jim said and did his best to maintain at least a semblance of a smile. But it was clear that Bones wouldn’t buy it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jim?”

The sniffer dog was back. Jim groaned inwardly and his energy was sucked out of him. “Nothing, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?”

Jim reached out and reduced the volume. Bones so close to a meltdown was distorting the transmission as well, it appeared. “I’ll see to that once I’m back.” With visible effort, Bones calmed himself down.

“I’m all right, okay?” Jim said, but Bones narrowed his eyes. “Now listen,” Jim continued, “as we’re finally talking, I could use some help with my book list.”

If anything could aggravate Bones more than Jim’s evasive answers, it was their secret code for information. “What do you need?” Bones asked, barely opening his mouth.

“I’d like to read something more along the lines of Lincoln’s biography, you know. But a little more recent?”

Oh yes, Bones had a very good idea what Jim wanted. Official codes that gave him access to whatever database or facility that Bones got clearance for.

“I’d suggest you start with Archer’s Guide to Galactic Negotiations. Or was it Emigration? I’m not sure, I bought it for Scotty’s birthday. What a day,” he added wistfully, but his eyes betrayed him. He was furious.

Jim grabbed a PADD and wrote down _alpha gamma gamma epsilon_ – and what was the day of Scotty’s birthday? The twenty-third!

“ _He_ gets older, but I’m still the same old stupid bastard in a fucking flying saucer in an almost vacuum,” Bones ranted on. So it was the same identification as in the old times, Jim deduced.

“Ah, don’t worry, when you’re back we’ll hit town and I’m paying.”

Bones didn’t seem to listen. “You stay safe and don’t do anything stupid!” he snapped, pointing a finger at the screen.

“What could I–” Jim started, but then the transmission failed completely. Squaring his shoulders, Jim got up. He couldn’t really explain what had driven him to get Bones’ codes, especially as this had been the first chance they had talked after such a long time. All he knew was that he was sick and tired of doing _nothing_ , of sitting around and accepting whatever fate the Central Command threw at him. But in order to do something, he had to gather information first.

And then? The entire time in prison, the only motivation that had kept him going was the idea of revenge. Making De Luca pay for taking away everything, including the Federation Jim knew. Yet looking at Earth right now, the plan to cut off the snake’s head and kill the poisonous rest seemed ludicrous at best.

 _I could at least expose his plans and see what happens,_ Jim thought and went to his apartment’s control interface. He typed in Bones’ codes and smiled at the instant widening of his access to Starfleet’s data. It wasn’t enough, though, but this was the first step toward the information he really needed, and he knew exactly where to get them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I guess I don't have to explain to anyone why I was temporarily unable to write Star Trek fanfiction :(  
> But my dear beta NurseDarry didn't forget about me, thank you so much!


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of a door opening and closing reached his ears and Khan was immediately wide awake. He scanned his surroundings, but it was just some woman who had left a building a little south and was now walking down the street toward an approaching taxi. To spare his energy, Khan was about to return to the twilight sleep he had spent the last two hours in when another door opened, now opposite the shadow he was hiding in.

_Kirk. Finally._

Dreading the possibility that Kirk would take a taxi too, Khan was relieved to see that he was steering toward a bus stop. The free public transport vehicles were large enough that entering the second carriage without being seen wouldn’t pose a problem.

But why was Kirk taking the bus anyway? He was wearing his uniform, heading to, well, what exactly? If there was some conspiratorial gathering taking place in the middle of the night, not even a CCS lackey came to pick him up?

Khan dismissed the thoughts and concentrated on the task that demanded his attention. Following Kirk after their encounter in the bar had been easy to a degree because Kirk wouldn’t notice him, as drunk as he was. It was more the increasing public surveillance that bothered Khan, although the block where the building with Kirk’s apartment was situated didn’t exactly count as first-class. Finding a spot from where he could observe the entrance without being watched was complicated, but once he had settled in, he could be less vigilant.

In contrast to now. Completely focused on staying undetected, Khan listened for drones and slipped from shadow to shadow. Pulling his hood into his face as far as possible, he sped to the bus once Kirk had climbed into it, and he barely avoided an alert because of an obstructed door. Monitoring Kirk through the window to the first carriage, Khan was still wondering where Kirk was headed. It couldn’t be Headquarters although the bus was going in that direction, because who would have business there in the middle of the night?

Hoping for some other scenario, Khan followed Kirk when he stepped out of the bus. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the large building appeared to be Kirk’s destination. He was taking side streets after all. The more the giant block of glass came into sight, though, the less Khan believed his own self-delusions and it became increasingly difficult to continue walking, his feet somehow refusing to place him in such obvious danger. Apprehension gripped him with such force that he only barely managed to retreat into the shadow when Kirk turned around.

Khan peeked past a pillar and saw Kirk entering a building. _Not Starfleet!_ Khan realized, and disregarding his safety, he dashed forward, getting his foot in the door before it closed. He stopped dead in his tracks, listening for Kirk as he wasn’t in the automatically-lit hallway anymore. There, a sound! Khan turned to his right and followed the faint noise to a basement door where his pursuit came to an end.

Staring at the security lock, Khan tried to make sense of what was going on. Kirk had gained access to the building of some of the last token human rights groups that carved out a heavily restricted existence in the shadows of the Central Command. He obviously wasn’t interested in the offices, but preferred to visit the cellar. In his uniform, at half past one in the morning.

The light didn’t detect motion anymore, let alone bio-signals, and was automatically switched off. In the dark, Khan took the chance to process the spike of adrenaline that had strained his nervous system, but when he had sufficiently calmed down, his mind picked up on a detail that seemed laughable but not impossible. Assuming that Kirk _wasn’t_ here on official business, what could he want?

Khan recalled the time when he had tried to gain access to Headquarters and had dismissed a stealthy approach. There was a tunnel below this building, but the door was too heavily guarded, and took too long to gain entry without a code. For someone with the code, though…?

Yet why should Kirk attempt a break-in?

Something was wrong – which was no surprise after the events at the beginning of the night; Khan reckoned and regretted the thought immediately. For a moment, his body gained the upper hand, reminding him of the activities of some hours ago. Although the dull ache that had lingered the whole way to Kirk’s apartment was gone, there were still the sticky remains of semen, a small amount that hadn’t seeped out when Kirk had finger-fucked him.

Khan closed his eyes, allowing himself to relive the moment when he had come, clenching down hard while Kirk’s fingers were wreaking havoc on his nerves. Who knew what was driving Kirk nowadays? Perhaps the same pursuit of instant gratification that had always pushed him.

Compressing his lips, Khan buried the images again. Kirk had just taken up the offer of a stranger. Going by the efficiency of the whole act, Kirk was obviously used to getting his way, but if everything dropped into Kirk’s lap so easily, why would he break into Starfleet’s headquarters?

Mentally following Kirk’s path through the other building, Khan reached the same dead end as when plotting his own break-in. There was no possibility of going back the same way Kirk had come in, so the only exit was the front door – which was out of the question!

Alarmed, Khan slinked out of the building and moved as near to the headquarters’ entrance as possible. He was still at least a hundred meters away yet within earshot in case of a confrontation. Half-hoping that there would be a fight, something that put an end to the waiting and the fear of detection and – most likely – to everything, Khan remained motionless for an hour or maybe two, he couldn’t tell. It was just about dawn and the deserted square would soon come alive again, providing more chances to hide. Or to be arrested.

Debating whether he should leave, Khan saw movement in the entrance hall. He steeled himself to run to the door, but nothing happened. Someone crossed the hall, someone in uniform, and he casually greeted a guard and then walked through the door as if it was completely commonplace.

Khan couldn’t believe his eyes. Kirk had bluffed his way out of the building, so much was certain, because once he approached the spot where Khan was hiding, instinctively steering in the direction that would give him cover, Khan caught a glimpse of his distressed face.

Stepping back, Khan let Kirk pass only to resume his pursuit afterwards. Kirk was surely heading to whatever safe house he had found before his little stunt, which meant losing track of him would be fatal. Prepared to change direction any time, Khan was surprised to see Kirk take the same route, jump on the same bus, and even get out two stations from where he had started his clandestine trip. Kirk wouldn’t head back to his apartment, would he?

Khan closed the gap to Kirk, still flabbergasted that their destination seemed to be the apartment. Kirk had to know that although he had momentarily escaped, CCS would be on his heels any minute now. What was Kirk’s problem? Being so reckless wasn’t like him, Khan assessed. Taking risks was one thing, but being downright stupid? How did this fit into the picture?

 _It’s Kirk’s problem,_ Khan’s mind assured him, but he followed Kirk regardless until they reached the last corner near Kirk’s building. Not showing any signs of slowing down, Kirk marched on, one, two steps left until he would be in plain sight, and in the split second that remained, Khan decided that Kirk wouldn’t stop.

Rushing forward, Khan clutched Kirk’s jacket and it ripped at the seams when Khan yanked Kirk backward and into an entrance.

“What the fuck…?” Kirk seethed and a shadow that Khan saw coming – too late – made impact with his face, a surprising amount of pain manifesting on his temple as a result. Assuming that his hard punch had knocked out his opponent, Kirk allowed for a small time window, and Khan shoved Kirk against the metal door, his lower arm pressing into his windpipe.

“Be quiet!” he hissed. He saw Kirk’s eyes widen.

 _You,_ Kirk mouthed, confusion written all over his face. Khan gave him a bit more room so that he could breathe. “Have you been following me? From the bar?” Kirk rasped.

“It doesn’t matter,” Khan said. “Now listen.” Kirk still looked utterly baffled and Khan wasn’t sure he really understood what he was being told. “You cannot return to your apartment.”

“What do you…?” Kirk tried to fight the grip but failed. “That’s none of your business!” he whispered hoarsely. “What are you? CC Security? I knew it!”

“If I was, you wouldn’t be alive now, don’t you get it?” Khan pressed down a little harder again, hoping Kirk would stop talking.

“You know what?” Kirk wheezed. “I don’t give a shit who you are. Let me go!”

Frustrated and exhausted, Khan weighed his options. He couldn’t keep Kirk back, couldn’t take him out, couldn’t reveal himself. He was trapped and it was his own fault above all.

What was he doing here anyway? The brief moments in the bar where he had had the impression that he was seeing flashes of the old Kirk had activated an reflex, although Kirk hadn’t been in danger then. There had just been inconsistencies in his behavior that were most likely due to the fact that he had been serving a quasi-dictatorship for too long.

Feeling incredibly tired, Khan let his head fall forward until it leaned against the metal door. Kirk smelled of fear and fight, the two prevalent smells during the time they first met, back when everything had taken the wrong turn. With the wrecked ship on that cursed heap of stones and Kirk’s relentless efforts to _connect_.

He wouldn’t try that now, though. _Now I’m just some stranger he picked up and fucked,_ Khan thought and took a step back.

“Man, what’s…?” Kirk asked, but Khan shook his head.

“You can go,” Khan said, and Kirk escaped without a backward glance.

Khan clenched his fists and listened. At least five agents were closing in, backup through the air was most likely under way. _Whatever he is up to, it’s his decision,_ Khan reminded himself when Kirk turned around the corner, but the moment he disappeared, Khan just swore to himself and hurried after him.

Disbelievingly, he took in the scene unfolding in front of him. Kirk was advancing toward the entrance of the building, completely ignoring the plain-clothes agent who was closing in and reaching into his jacket.

“To your left, Kirk!” Khan shouted and immediately realized his mistake when the command punctuated with his name made Kirk hesitate for a moment. He reacted, yes, but a fraction of a second too late because, although Khan shot forward and knocked the agent to the ground, another one whipped out his phaser.

The beam hit Kirk’s upper body, sending him stumbling and doubling over in pain.

“You! Freeze!” the agent who had shot Kirk shouted at Khan and fired without another warning. Effortlessly, Khan sidestepped the beam. The obvious disregard for the threat made the agent pause for a moment, considering his adversary.

 _Good,_ Khan thought. Because a second was all he needed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the filler that was mainly due to the changing POVs. Thanks, NurseDarry, for patiently bearing with me.


	7. Chapter 7

His knees hit the ground, but all Jim felt was the intense pain in his upper arm. He clutched it and then let go again, goddamn phaser wounds; there was nothing you could do against the burn! From what his fingers had identified, it was a rather deep graze, the remaining heat sizzling at the edge, yet once his mind had finished the assessment, Jim tried to get his bearings again. He heaved himself up, following the flurry of movement around him without really making out any details because all he could see was the guy from the bar next to him, firing a phaser at multiple targets.

“We have to retreat. Can you walk?”

 _The voice – it’s different from the bar,_ flitted through Jim’s head. It was what had caught him off-guard before. And how did the guy know his name?

His thoughts were cut short by a push and Jim stumbled along, his arm throbbing with each step he took.  His chest was encircled and he was pulled onward. Unthinkingly, Jim followed because he didn’t have a choice anyway. Hell, that guy was strong!

They went up stairs and through side streets and underpasses, their steps and Jim’s rasping breaths the most prevalent background noise. Jim’s lungs were starting to burn, and although the guy stopped embracing him and gripped Jim’s jacket like he was maneuvering an unruly dog, Jim was thankful for any support.

It felt like an eternity, the zig-zag flight through the street canyon until slowly, the buildings became smaller and there was a distinct smell of salt. Jim knew the area.

“Do you–?”

“Shut up,” the stranger cut him short. “And give me your jacket.”

When Jim didn’t react immediately, the man ripped the jacket from his frame, seemingly indestructible Starfleet craftsmanship popping buttons without much complaint.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Jim panted, but could only watch his jacket being stuffed into a bin. He risked a look around assured him that he was really at the docks, somewhere not very far from the bar. At dawn, without the night’s illumination, the neighborhood appeared very different though, and there were just a couple of drunks making their way home in the otherwise deserted streets.

In order to catch his breath, Jim leaned against a wall, just a tiny pause, a moment to focus on his aching wound. His eyes dropped shut and his head, still buzzing with pain and exhaustion, thought it would be a good idea to switch off a little. Jim approved the notion wholeheartedly, but before he could give in to the pull of sleep, he was roused with a shake.

“Move!”

The hand then dragged and guided him like before. While Jim’s legs threatened to quit, he kept going, but the moment he was unceremoniously deposited against a wooden door was pure bliss. The stranger opened it and pushed Jim into a dark room. Blindly, Jim felt for support, but could only grab the man’s sweater.

“Who the fuck…are you?” Jim hissed, pulling at the fabric. “If you’re not CCS, what then?” He inhaled. “A Klingon spy?”

The stranger grunted. Or had it been a derisive laugh? Jim could still only hear the rush of his blood in his ears and he refused to be intimidated when the man took a step and didn’t stop his approach until he could lean in so closely that Jim felt his breath on his ear. Could smell him.

Inconspicuously, he sniffed. The detergent was gone and what remained was something odd. Something familiar. _Someone_ familiar…

“Think again,” the guy growled.

Jim closed his eyes. That voice! Without the strange face to distract him, there was no mistaking it. Jim would have known it anywhere.

“Khan.” No inflection, but Jim was glad he could say the name before the breathlessness was back, his throat constricting until he thought he would pass out. He needed to think but he couldn’t, needed to connect seemingly impossible strands of reality that just didn’t want to fit! How…? Just how…?

Jim raised his arms – to do what? – only becoming aware of the strength that had gathered somewhere when he shoved him away.

“You son of a…” was all Jim got out before he couldn’t manage his pain anymore. “Fuck!”

“I should see to your wound,” _that_ voice said.

“Stay the hell away from me!” Jim shouted. A hand clamped over his mouth.

“Be quiet!” Khan whispered. He was close now, and Jim recoiled because Khan wasn’t allowed to be… _there_ all of a sudden. Not after being _dead_. Because if he was alive, there was no excuse, no explanation for the past two years.

 _Then all he did was let me down,_ Jim thought. The hand was removed from his mouth and briefly, Jim was inclined to leave and to simply reject the mad possibility offered to him right now. He could go on living without it. It had worked before, hadn’t it? He felt more questions forming though, and they refused to be pushed aside.

“What’s with your face?” It seemed one of the less dangerous aspects that demanded to be clarified, especially now that Jim’s eyes had accustomed to the light, and all he saw was the ordinary guy he had hooked up with in a bar.

“The implants were extracted. One of them is now a cloaking device that distorts your vision. It’s in my collar.”

Stated matter-of-factly. As if anyone should have known.

“Neat,” Jim gave back seemingly noncommittedly. “Also helpful if you’re into anonymous fucking.”

The loathing in his voice hadn’t been intentional, but it felt as good as dealing out the insult. Jim just wished he didn’t feel so weak. When Khan raised his hand, Jim even flinched imperceptibly. Irritated, he gave himself a mental kick for his insecurity and followed the movement to the collar. He saw the fingers fumble with something, a shimmering of the air set in and then the stranger’s features melted away, revealing the face that Jim had desperately waited to see at some point.

 _I should be relieved,_ he told himself when nothing of the sort ensued. At least he should feel _something_ , now that he had proof that he wasn’t hallucinating. Jim traced back the anger of before and found it simmering but refusing to come forth. There was something else that effectively subdued it, dragging and pulling at his strength as it had since he had been freed from prison. The whole time he had felt like he had been stuffed into a bubble that kept him at a distance from the world, numbing him, and with the adrenaline of the break-in and the flight gone, it was there again full force. Jim turned away, frowning.

Khan was alive. And it didn’t change anything.

“Do you have HypoHeal? Or at least gauze?” Jim muttered.

While Khan went to a corner of the shack, Jim clumsily peeled himself out of his shirt. The flesh wound really looked grisly, but fortunately it had stopped pulsing like a fresh cut. Jim suppressed the thought that healing it would be easy, given Khan had the right equipment and could make the transfusion that would render everything as good as new.

White fabric appeared in front of Jim’s face and he grabbed it absentmindedly.

 _No, I won’t go down that path again,_ Jim thought to himself but huffed out a laugh at the same time. Hell, he had gone down that path a couple of hours ago _without_ the aphrodisiac effect of the blood.

His musings had taken a bit too long Jim realized when Khan took the T-shirt back and ripped it apart. It was too late to debate whether the move was welcome, as Khan immediately went to work, bandaging the upper arm with what seemed to be utmost care not to touch Jim. He couldn’t avoid it though, and it felt as if the grazing fingers seared the flesh almost as effectively as the wound. Jim subdued a shiver and kept his eyes trained on the wall.

“It’s going to get infected,” Khan stated. “This shirt and the surroundings are far from sterile.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“You could lose your arm,” Khan maintained.

“It’s still attached, so what?” Jim said. “And unless you know a paramedic around here, I have to take my chances.”

“I can’t break into an apothecary.” Khan tied a knot into the end of the strip. “An alarm will certainly direct all the forces that are looking for you to this district.”

“I know that, okay?”

“On the other hand, people are engaging in all kinds of illegal business around here, most notably drug dealing.”

“I can stand the pain,” Jim snapped.

“The _substances_ aren’t what I have in mind.”

 _The equipment_. It could be easily manipulated to serve as a means for a transfusion.

“No.” Jim said to the floor because he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Khan. “Over my dead body.”

There was a long, increasingly awkward pause. Jim took stock of himself, trying to figure out if he really meant what he had said. Khan was wrapping yet another strip of fabric around his arm. As carefully as he patched up the wound, there was a chance that it would heal. But if it developed blood poisoning after all…?

“I can do without you, all right?” Jim said, putting an end to the discussion and to his own thoughts.

“Like you did in front of your apartment’s building?” Khan asked and then hesitated. “What were you doing? Did your fame go to your head?”

What kind of question was that? Jim couldn’t make the slightest sense of it. How was he supposed to know that agents would be swarming the streets? He had gotten out of Headquarters without a problem, so he had been safe, right? And what was it about that ‘fame’ bit? Did Khan really buy the Central Command’s lies about the Hero of Theta-Four-Nine? Bile was rising in Jim’s throat.

“Fame?” he spat and pulled his arm away. “You know what? Piss off!”

To Jim’s surprise, Khan backed off immediately, and he even stayed where he was when Jim sat down at the foot of the wall, legs and mind so weary that it took a Herculean effort to stay awake. But Jim could still feel Khan’s eyes on him even though Jim had found some crack of the opposite wall to study to avoid him.

“What did you do in the Headquarters?”

Avoidance only went one way, it seemed. Without acknowledging that he had heard the question, Jim continued to stare at the wall. It was weird, all of it. Was Khan really initiating a conversation?

Considering his answer, Jim enjoyed a brief return of the elation he had felt when he managed to extract the information from an emergency node. Two years of code breaking in a Klingon security system paid off at last. But although from the moment he’d caught a brief glimpse at the document, he had wanted to scream its content to the world, sharing the information with Khan didn’t seem right. And why would Khan care anyway? He didn’t know jack about Central Command, that much was clear.

“None of your business,” Jim growled.

“If you gathered information, it could be of use,” Khan said. “Not to you, as you’ve obviously lost your mind, walking in there like you did.”

Jim snorted. “Oh, I forgot, you’re so much cleverer than the rest of us. Why don’t you go and get the intel you need yourself? What do you want it for anyway?”

“It could give me a better shot at killing De Luca.”

Again, it seemed, he was stating the obvious. Which he was, unsurprisingly, because what else could be expected of Khan? Jim let his eyes wander until they found him, still standing a couple of steps away, some scraps of the t-shirt in his hand and an unreadable expression on his face.

“That’s what you want to do?” Jim asked. “A suicide mission to ensure yet another martyr? You know how much Central Command has twisted Marcus’s death!”

“That’s not important. If De Luca –”

“We thought that too when Marcus was gone!” Jim hissed angrily. He had could barely keep his voice down. “You won’t make a hero of that bastard! And if that’s your fucking plan, you’d better kill me as well because I won’t let that happen!”

“It’s clear that you’d protect him…” Khan stated, but he sounded insecure about what he was saying. Jim withstood his increasingly searching gaze that seemed to assess each square centimeter of Jim’s face.

“I’m not protecting him, goddammit,” he cursed. “Why else would I get access to secret data?” Somehow this all started to feel like he was explaining the complexity of the world to a small child. Jim controlled his impatience. “To make it public to screw up his plans, what about that?”

Khan frowned and his look became even more intense. “Let’s assume I believe you,” he said, but it carried a great amount of doubt. “What about Scott? Why didn’t you both find a way to get the data from the outside?”

Jim groaned. “Because Scotty isn’t here and I need to act _now_!”

Yeah, he definitely had to do something and not just sit around in a shed, squabbling with Khan of all people. Jim commanded his legs to stand and after a while, they complied.

“And what did you find out?”

Khan wouldn’t let it rest. Jim had to give it to him; he was persistent. And telling him wouldn’t hurt, would it? It didn’t matter if Khan knew.  

“Praxis is to be destroyed,” Jim said and put on his torn shirt. “They devised a way to blow it up and the plan is to enter Qo’nos and make it a colony.” Jim looked around. “Do you have a jacket or a sweater?”

Frozen on the spot, Khan didn’t even react with a nod or a shake of the head. So Jim carefully made his way across the floor full of holes towards where Khan had fetched the t-shirt before. In the pile of clothes that mainly consisted of undershirts, there was a casual jacket with a zip. “The document was signed with the initials DL and K. I guess we all know who DL is. But K? Any idea?”

Khan just shrugged, apparently still as helpless as before, and Jim’s anger surged instantly. A simple gesture shouldn’t be able to infuriate him like that, but the fact that Khan had become a fucking coward was riling him up unfailingly. Hiding in this dump while dreaming of his revenge. _Pathetic_.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jim snarled. “It’s not like you could do anything about it. Can’t now, couldn’t do in the past two years!”

The urge to leave became stronger from one second to the next, and Jim had just taken a step towards the door when a hand grabbed his uninjured arm.

“Don’t, Kirk, it’s too dangerous.”

Wrenching his arm free, Jim used it to shove Khan off. “I’ve managed on my own until now!”

That stupid helpless face! Coupled with hesitation, fear, and a myriad of other expressions that weren’t allowed to be there. It was just like they’d activated the implants again although Khan had explicitly told him they were out. How could he dare to become such a weakling in the time he was needed the most!

Disregarding the pain, Jim clutched Khan’s jacket and gave him another push, sending him against the wall with a resounding thud. Damn, he didn’t even fight back! He just assumed that unreadable look of before again, letting himself be manhandled like a damn ragdoll!

Jim closed the gap between them and gave Khan a taste of his own actions from before, his forearm pressing against the windpipe. Khan would react any minute now, wouldn’t he?

“Kirk,” he wheezed, but still didn’t defend himself, just watched Jim with wary eyes, as if he was still debating with himself. But about what?

Jim blinked, his hand on Khan’s chest suddenly taking intimate stock of the galloping heartbeat rapping against the ribs. Jim took a step back, a sudden lightheadedness making him almost stagger. Perspiration broke out as uncomfortable heat seized his body, but what was worse was the telltale tingle of their touch still buzzing through layers of clothes.

Straightening his sleeves like he could erase the feeling, Jim glowered at Khan. “I don’t need you,” he spat and before he turned away to go, he was satisfied to see that Khan’s face fell at last.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs her lovely beta, NurseDarry*


	8. Chapter 8

Before Khan knew it, he rushed after Kirk, clutching his arm like a lifeline he didn’t even let go when Kirk looked at him with so much contempt that even his words from before paled in comparison.

“They will get you if you leave!” Khan warned him, simultaneously struggling against the desperation unfurling. Kirk’s hateful gaze tore down the walls to poorly hidden memories and he could already hear them whispering from the depths. Cursing him, accusing him.

_Useless. Everything you’ve done was futile. Everything!_

Khan inhaled. Kirk was right, the chance to make a difference was over. Each decision he had made had been wrong. Searching for his crew. Not turning around for Kirk and ignoring the voice that had told him to change his mission and to engage in greater things again.

But he had assured himself that Kirk would be fine. His crew would look after him.

 _As I have to look after my crew._ The constant thought.

Khan closed his eyes and couldn’t shut out the images that kept scraping at his sanity. The sand being blown in his face and the awareness of bones under his feet.

It had been too late. They had all been dead, his entire crew – except for his personal Adam and Eve, the two sole survivors of whatever mad power struggle had the rest of the group go at each other’s throat.

The next step had been easy. He would offer them something better than the dusty hell Starfleet had abandoned them on, and after months of hiding, flying, searching, on a class M planet inhabited by a small civilization, he had found them an island.

The two had adapted quickly. Who would have thought that it would be him who couldn’t?

 _You have to leave._ The words still resounded in his ear. They were grateful, yes. But in the end it came down to one conclusion: They didn’t need him anymore.

Khan swallowed and forced himself to look Kirk in the eye.

“Don’t…don’t go.” It felt imperative that he didn’t.

“Why? Because we’d make a great team?” Kirk asked, the words dripping with irony. “Save the universe and such?”

They stood staring, caught in an iron stalemate, and Khan could feel Kirk’s entire body straining against his grip.

“I don’t know,” Khan said. They were the only words that came to his mind and he knew he shouldn’t have uttered them when Kirk’s mouth curled into a sneer.

“That’s hardly news,” he scoffed. Changing his strategy, Kirk stepped nearer until his face wasn’t more than a hand’s breadth away from Khan. “What do you want?”

Each word fired like a torpedo with the promise of more that would really hurt. But Khan decided that he could take them. He would prefer anything to remaining alone in the shack, reduced to his mere existence. And just like in the bar, he knew he was walking right into a trap, one he had set for himself. He had had dozens of chances to avoid Kirk, to stop pursuing him, but even Kirk’s scowl and the antagonism exuded by the rest of the body were so much better than the constant nothing.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, now convinced that he would make Kirk angry. He couldn’t fathom the reason why those words enraged Kirk, he only knew that he needed a reaction. Hating himself for the perverse pleasure he felt when Kirk bridged the gap between them, pressing him into the wall, Khan allowed the treacherous signals of his body full reign.

“Why do you even care?” Kirk growled, but Khan didn’t really listen anymore. Kirk was so warm, he was almost glowing. Hypnotic, comforting heat that Khan needed more of. So he let go of Kirk’s arm and immediately pulled him nearer by his lower back. “What…?”

Despite the question, Kirk didn’t turn away and instead inched even closer, rubbing his crotch along Khan’s. “That’s what it’s been coming down to anyway, hasn’t it?” Kirk rasped when Khan couldn’t suppress a groan. “No surprise I ended up with my dick up your ass before I knew it was _you_.”

The tone was so ugly that Khan could barely stand it. Yet there were more important things, like Kirk’s hand traveling down his stomach.

“Of course it’s just that,” Kirk went on. “Has always been. Remember?”

Khan’s body remembered. And it wanted, needed. He gave the hand that was now slipping into his trousers a little room to maneuver, and used the opportunity to mirror the movement. Gasping at the feeling of skin on skin, Khan allowed his other hand to roam under Kirk’s shirt.

 _Not enough._ Impatiently, Khan pulled at Kirk’s trousers to get them down, just enough to be able to have better access, add a twist, more pressure, but Kirk beat him to it, yanking the clothes out of the way and grabbing their erections with so much force that Khan had to bite the inside of his cheek in order not to come. He joined the hand with his, trying to keep pace with the frantic rhythm Kirk established, but merely hung on.

“Is that what you want?” Kirk wheezed, leaning his sweaty forehead on Khan’s temple. “Come on, tell me!”

Delicious heat coiled in Khan’s crotch, the tip of his abused erection almost bursting with nerves. He opened his mouth but no words came out, only a breathy moan, as the tension in his body gradually dissolved, and a vicious squeeze threatened to blaze the trail for his orgasm.

“I…Kirk…” Helplessly, he pushed into the hand, but as if the name had shaken him awake, Kirk froze. In an instant, the friction was gone as well as the warmth. Khan tore his eyes open, channeling what remained of his higher brain function. What was going on? The only thing he could process was Kirk hectically closing his trousers while stepping backward.

“That’s… I didn’t…” Kirk muttered and looked up. There was something else he wanted to say and from the movement of his mouth, Khan assumed it could have been ‘sorry’, but then Kirk spun around and bolted out of the door.

Automatically, Khan’s hand tightened around his neglected penis. He was too close. But already the first tug made it painfully clear that this was no substitute. Nothing could take the place of Kirk, who had felt like a chunk cut out of the sun, just waiting to incense and consume.

Irritated, Khan brushed away his arousal and began to piece together reality. He had to dress. Get ready to leave. Kirk’s addictive body heat had been an impressive presence, but he still… Petrified, Khan finally assembled the last of the sketchy impressions.

The intensity that bordered madness, the warmth: What if they hadn’t predominantly been excitement?

Khan’s hand shot to his collar to activate the device, and on his way out of the shack, he counted the other symptoms he had obviously overlooked. Sweat, the racing heart, a general weakness caused by organs starting to fail.

He scanned the street and came to the conclusion that Kirk had taken the direction away from the people on the main road. Quickly making it to the nearest corner, he saw Kirk stealing down the alley, more stumbling than sneaking, but he was still on his feet. In his condition, he wouldn’t make it far, and Khan was relieved that after half a block, he saw Kirk crawl into a dinghy covered with a tarpaulin. 

Deciding against his first instinct to get Kirk out of there and back to the shack, Khan assured himself that Kirk wouldn’t leave his hiding place. Sepsis would worsen quickly, but there was still time.

 _And how much?_ Khan thought when he turned around to walk north. He made sure not to run as it would have attracted attention, but the drug den disguised as a restaurant was at least ten minutes away from his position. And Kirk was alone, inexplicably struck down by a flesh wound. A man who looked like the epitome of health, how was that even possible?

The minutes dragged on, and when he finally reached the building, Khan had to refrain from breaking down the door. Instead, he climbed into an open window, tracing the faint murmuring of voices upstairs.

A patron of the joint passed him on the stairs but didn’t acknowledge his presence. Khan suspected the reason was the microbial tranquilizer that was so popular among soldiers and the ordinary population nowadays. No matter how much the Central Command increased the punishment for its use, it still spread quite spectacularly.

But if they distributed it here, they would have exactly the hypo devices Khan needed for a transfusion. He would just have to make tiny adjustments to draw blood.

A door opened and Khan glanced around for cover. Nothing, so he had to play the other card. Walking along the unfurnished corridor like he had a purpose, he nodded at the two women who left the room. One of them carried a tray holding different instruments, and going by their tunics, both belonged to service personnel.

_Just what I need._

“Are you looking for a free seat?” the taller woman asked, and Khan shook his head.

“I’m here to pick up a friend. He should be ready any minute now.”

“I have to ask you to wait outside then, sir,” she said. “This is only for customers.”

Khan barked out a laugh. “Too many CCS agents outside for my taste today.”

The eyes of the two employees widened, and without another word, they scurried away toward the end of the hallway. Khan used the opportunity to step into the room they had just left.

 _Years of war leave their mark on everyone,_ Khan thought when he glanced at the spaced-out men and women. They were resting in comfortable lounge chairs and appeared to be totally lost to the world, Central Command’s seemingly perfect version of Earth gone for an artificially happy moment.

Scanning the surfaces didn’t lead to anything. The two had taken all the instruments with them, so Khan went after them, headed in the direction they had disappeared. The closer he came to the end of the corridor, the louder the voices became. Khan picked out different words in the agitated talk, and someone behind a door with a ‘Staff’ sign on it was obviously worried about agents, and spoke of different dangers the building faced.

Khan slipped through a neighboring door into what was more a laboratory than a storage room, and snatched two hypo devices from a box. Giving up his stealthy approach, he then returned to the hallway and went downstairs again; a peek out of the back entrance showed that the easy part of his endeavor was over.

There was a patrol down the street, questioning passers-by and making people open doors.

“Damn,” Khan cursed. The den was obviously well-disguised and there were measures in place that made it wisest to stay. With a practiced eye, he found a small space under the stairs and folded his body into it. It would only take an hour, perhaps two, he thought, trying to reach the calm he had always used to hide on ships and space stations.

Yet just as he couldn’t reach the dormancy that brought him through long stretches of waiting. There was no end to the commotion on the street, and each time he checked, a uniform stood out against the people. And although his cramped position shouldn’t bother him, it did all of a sudden, tormenting him, pestering him to leave.

Kirk was out there. Unprotected.

To take his mind off the thought, Khan occupied himself with fixing the devices to his needs, and through the small window above the door he could see that it was already getting darker.

Not many customers had entered the building, knowing better than to give in to their addiction while the neighborhood was being combed by CCS, and as much as the general fear would reduce the crowds in the street, Khan couldn’t stay any longer. The images of Kirk dying alone in that old boat weren’t just flashing up now and then, they had become a constant haunting. A nightmarish reality.

 _He won’t die_ , Khan repeated inwardly. _There’s still time._

Blocking out the danger, Khan left the building and then chose random pedestrians walking in the right direction as his cover and navigation device. As much on autopilot as possible, he let himself be led through the streets, but for the last meters to the quay, he had to make on his own.

He listened for steps, for movement. Breathing, a heartbeat. Suddenly everything was eerily still, not even the sounds from the streets reaching him.

“He isn’t dead,” Khan whispered as if saying it would make a difference. With trembling fingers he lifted the tarpaulin and there Kirk was, curled up in a ball between two of the benches. Khan’s hand shot out to feel for a pulse.

 _Yes._ The realization activated the other hand, but Khan didn’t feel the sting of the hypodraw. Kirk was burning up with fever, there was definitely no time left, hadn’t it been for the words that still rang in Khan’s ears. He climbed into the boat and carefully, he lifted Kirk’s upper body, cradling his head in the crook of his arm.

“Listen Kirk.” There was no reaction, so Khan stroked his face, his hand cold against the hot skin. “Kirk!”

“What?” The eyes were still closed, but Khan had to assume he was at least somewhat lucid.

“Kirk, you have sepsis. Do you understand me?” It was more the difficulty he had breathing that occupied Kirk, it seemed. He managed a faint nod. “Your heart is giving out which means your other organs are almost dead already. You need my blood.”

 Kirk coughed and tried to open his eyes.

“I think I can get you back to the shack,” Khan continued. “But that’s all. We can’t move any further. There are patrols.” Kirk nodded again, and then his head lolled to the side. “Kirk! Do you know what that means?”

Khan was sure Kirk had fallen unconscious, but suddenly a surprisingly strong hand gripped Khan’s arm. “Do it,” Kirk croaked and in less than a millisecond, Khan triggered the hypo device.

He peeked out from under the tarpaulin and then hoisted Kirk out of the boat. Masked as drunken swaying, he all but carried him to the shack, and not even the realization that someone had broken into it could dampen his relief. No matter who had been there in the meanwhile, they hadn’t encountered anyone and wouldn’t return.

Possibly. Or they had put the building under surveillance and this would be the end.

Those thoughts came and went again, ousted by the calm image of Kirk sleeping on the floor, a bundle of the old clothes under his head. Khan retreated to the other end of the shack.

Perhaps Kirk would sleep everything off – the blood poisoning and the effect of the cure.

Listening for noises outside, the voices, sirens, and engines messing with nighttime peace, Khan leaned against the wall and waited for the craving to begin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, NurseDarry, for patiently dealing with the increased work load. To make up for it, I scrapped chapter 12 :D


	9. Chapter 9

Jim woke with a start and jumped to his feet. Somewhere in the dark, he heard hectic scrambling, but in a wink his eyes adapted to the low light.

_The shack. Khan. Of course._

Gradually Jim became aware of his own body, and the slight surge of adrenalin waned. Instead, more details of the day surfaced in his mind and somewhere between the delirium of his fever and the pain, he heard the question again.

Jim inhaled. There was no doubt of his answer – although he couldn’t remember it.

“How long?” he whispered, dreading the response.

“About five hours.”

A quick calculation of the last time he had been subjected to the blood didn’t help. As effectively as he had buried the memories of tumultuous sex, there wasn’t much to draw a conclusion on. “Enough for…you know?”

Khan cleared his throat. “Perhaps, but we can’t wait. It is necessary to leave as long as it’s dark.”

Jim took a mental inventory. No pain, so the wound was healed. No other symptoms, fever or anything.

He paused. All of it felt _normal_. So there was the real chance that the effects of the blood had been eradicated by sleep.

“I had to do it, I–” Khan began, but Jim stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“I know, okay?” he said. “When I was lying in that fucking boat, I thought about going back. Waited a bit too long, I guess, and passed out.” Jim exhaled. “I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t have chosen to die just because I’m too stubborn to accept help.” Khan muttered something under his breath, but Jim ignored it. “And besides, it’s only been a vivid dream. I feel good.”

“Are you sure?”

Jim inspected his hands and craned his neck. “Yup, good as new. Let’s go.” He took a step toward Khan. And another. The third was already a sluggish dragging of his feet.

Oh hell, no, he didn’t feel good _at all_. He just hadn’t been completely awake or his circulation hadn’t started, or something completely different, it didn’t matter.

“Damn it!” Jim cursed before the blow of arousal made him stumble, his knees buckling. “Wait, okay, I can do this. I just have to get it together.” After another step, he groggily supported himself on his legs. “Right, I take that back. This is bad. Really, really bad.”

 _Shit, this isn’t happening!_ Jim cursed inwardly and arranged his dick in his trousers. “I’m such an idiot, I should’ve known the moment I could literally see in the dark! Fuck!”

Khan winced and Jim would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation if the expletive hadn’t given him ideas as well. Pulling his jacket as low as possible seemed like a good idea.

“Kirk, it’s not like the last time,” Khan explained, his voice steady. Maybe he wasn’t affected that much? “We know what to expect and that it will pass. And we definitely have to go. Now!”

While slowly coming nearer, Khan activated the holocloaking device, but the new features didn’t help Jim in the slightest.

“Thanks for the reminder,” he remarked sarcastically. “But you know, that face isn’t exactly an escape pod.”

Thankful for the fact that Khan took the lead and ushered him outside, Jim kept walking close to him. Purely for safety reasons, he told himself, while being completely aware of the fact that if the distance between them expanded, he would clearly disintegrate, vanish as if he was being beamed away and his matrix was never to be assembled again.

Jim grabbed Khan’s arm. “Not so fast, all right?”

“We can’t pause, Kirk,” Khan said.

“Yes, damn it, I know.” With as much force as he could muster, Jim delved into his mind and extracted the anger and frustration that had always been connected with Khan. Yeah, it helped a bit, but the fire in his blood was still burning a sizzling swath through his body.

“There are patrols around,” Khan said, his voice now more urgent. Kirk hated it that the eyes were merely unmoving shadows under the hood. But the mouth was Khan’s, oh hell yes…

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Jim registered the information he had been given and he even could bring himself to continue walking, but all he processed on their way was the gentle rubbing of their upper arms.

 _History repeating,_ Jim thought dejectedly and risked another look to the side. Khan stared ahead, lips pinched, and there was no telling if he was influenced by the aphrodisiac as well. If he was, he surely had a better grip on it.

“There’s a reloading point for this quarter’s goods a little further south,” Khan mumbled. “We could try to get into one of the transporters.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Whatever Khan had suggested, Jim would have gone along with it. He could have told him to strip and jump into the ocean, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Just hearing his voice was enough for the uncomfortable hard-on in his pants to swell to painful proportions.

“Shit,” Jim cursed. “Frigging–” The Earth spun and his breath was knocked out of him. “…hell!”

The impact of the wall on his back was still sending shockwaves of pain when Jim got his bearings again. Khan had shoved him into a house entrance and obviously shielded him from view. “What–?”

“There are agents approaching,” Khan whispered. “Two from the south, two from the north. If they’re scanning for biosignals, they won’t recognize me. You on the other hand…”

Jim frowned. “How come they don’t recognize you?”

“My signal gets masked.”

“Can you mask mine too?” Jim asked.

“There’s no guarantee.”

 _Okay, yeah, much better!_ Jim’s mind reeled when Khan closed the remaining gap between them. Straining to stay still when their erections bumped into each other, Jim gasped for air. So much for Khan being unaffected, he thought and gyrated his hips a little.

“Stop that!” Khan growled.

The slightly breathless tone went straight to Jim’s dick. “God, Khan, you have to give me _something_ ,” he implored. They heard the sound of heavy boots approaching and Jim knew he should feel at least a little trepidation, but he couldn’t even manage to keep his hands from slipping under Khan’s jacket. “Please, Khan, I can’t…please, just–”

His lips were instantly immobilized by an unyielding mouth that sucked his breath out of him even more effectively than the shove against the wall. Jim’s entire body froze just to explode with desire a split second later when finally and with the exact demanding urge he felt, the first gentle nipping turned into open mouthed exploration.

Someone cleared his throat but went on walking, tap, tap, tap, boots in synchronization approaching and passing from the other side as well.

“It’s a classic.” Khan’s husky voice was accompanied by a hint of a smirk that Jim could read in the curve of the mouth, and he wanted more of it, of everything.

The waistband was in the way, but not for long. Jim wormed his hand down along Khan’s ass, clutching the firm muscle. First a way to reactivate the vivid memory of the appealing view in the bar, the grip became more and more a means to stabilize himself as he didn’t have much to set against the strength that Khan now demonstrated. Jammed into the corner, Jim could barely breathe, but the dizziness was a small price to pay for the unbridled lust taking over, putting an end to gentle touches.

Khan’s mouth searched for different terrain and Jim bit back a loud moan when he felt teeth on his throat. He panted for breath, but was silenced by an insistent tongue.

“Kirk,” Khan whispered, just millimeters away.

“Yeah?” Jim was busy using the reprieve to squeeze a hand between them. The mind-blowing friction of their dicks’ rubbing wasn’t enough, not the grinding, not the almost painful pressure. He needed a nuanced approach leading to swift results, and cupping Khan’s bulge earned the wild grunt that he had hoped for.

“Kirk!” But then his hand was batted away. “Kirk! Concentrate!”

The world rattled to a forcefully connected reality when Khan shook him. Jim inhaled repeatedly.

“This is not the time!” Khan said under his breath. “And definitely not the place!”

Excess oxygen slowly replaced the other sources of Jim’s giddiness. “Don’t you think we could–?”

“No!” Khan barked and took a backward step.

Although he couldn’t completely block out the impression that he was being torn apart, Jim fought for composure. “You’re right,” he sighed. “And besides, I definitely need that mouth elsewhere.”

He received no answer to the quip, and Khan busied himself with the straightening of his clothes.

 _Nah, there’s no way_ that _won’t attract attention,_ Jim thought after a quick glance at his own erection stretching the trousers’ material to the limit. Yet if Khan continued with his usual routine of marching and pulling him along, perhaps the immediate urge would wane.

It took at least a kilometer of following winding side streets until Jim could walk without bending over a little – not a moment too soon as there were more people in the street now. Owners of bars and restaurants were steering their hoverlifts through the alleys to hawk their merchandise, and thankful for the new focus of his senses, Jim centered them on the smells and activities around him.

Automatic produce containers left a small warehouse on feeder bands and Khan quickly sneaked under one of them. Jim was barely able to follow him.

“Oregon herbs,” Khan whispered and motioned toward the band next to theirs.

“You think it’s heading back?” Jim asked.

“Most likely.”

“It’s fucking small,” Jim remarked, but Khan already pushed him forward and then all but threw him inside the container. He hopped in afterward and closed the doors. Jim blinked, hoping for his temporarily enhanced eyesight to pick up on any traces of light, but there was just total darkness.

“You think there’s enough air?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” Khan replied. “The journey’s relatively short, though. Five to eight hundred kilometers. On the conveyor line the container shouldn’t take more than two hours.” They felt a faint rattling. “It’s hooked on the magnetic field. Now all we can do is wait.”

During the gentle acceleration, Jim tried to find a comfortable position. He relaxed against the hard surface and traced the blood’s impact. It still thumped through his system, just like the adrenalin of the successful escape, and the feeling of invincibility definitely had some merit.

“That stuff is absolute madness,” Jim said and arranged his erection yet again. “Definitely a lot better than alcohol.” He closed his eyes to enjoy the rush. “What a fucking high.”

“That’s an adequate description.” It sounded forced. So Khan wasn’t off the hook as well.

It would be so easy. Convenient. Except that he had sworn he wouldn’t repeat past mistakes. And after what he had said to Khan, what they had done… Jim’s hands cramped around the fabric of his trousers. All of it resembled prison too closely.

Khan groaned and the sound went right through Jim. “Shit, you have to stop that!” His hands didn’t want to continue holding on to his own trousers and gripped Khan’s jacket instead.

“Kirk, that’s _not enough_.” Another strangled moan almost swallowed up the last words.

“Are you kidding me?” Exasperation choked Jim’s voice as much as the new wave of lust that had him send thanks to the stars for the fact that he was already sitting. “You said we could keep ourselves from doing the same bullshit all over again.”

“I didn’t anticipate ending up with you in a container less than six cubic meters in size.”

“And I’m not going to take advantage of you again.” And it would have sounded a lot less convincing if he had managed a sincere tone. “We made it till here. Last time and a moment ago, you tried to keep me in check. Let me take over, all right?”

As violently as he clutched the fabric, Jim thought that it would tear any second. Khan inhaled, his stuttering breath seemingly unwilling to fill his lungs.

“You found a way around when we were on G-478 Alpha,” Khan rasped.

“Yeah, I begged,” Jim admitted with a chuckle. “So that’s out of the question for you.”

“The last few years might have made me more humble.”

A strange word coming out of Khan’s mouth. “They sure as hell gave me a new perspective, as well,” Jim remarked.

“A perspective that made it seem a good idea to break into Starfleet’s Headquarters?”

“I learned that it’s best to rely on myself,” Jim answered. “Comes naturally in a Klingon prison.”

His mouth snapped shut. The words had slipped out involuntarily. Telling Khan didn’t make any sense at all, especially as talking about it didn’t lead to anything. Period. But at least the blood-induced high took away the sting of the memories and helped to bear the ensuing silence. Just the faint whirring of the magnetic fields could be heard.

“You were in prison?” Khan whispered after a while.

“Remember when we joked about it?” Jim asked. He huffed out a forced laugh. “Wasn’t so funny after all.”

“How long?”

“Two years, more or less.”

“But you look… there’s no mark…” Khan began, but then his voice faltered.

“Come on, you think the Central Command would leave any trace of the enemy?” Jim asked. “I had to look presentable.”

God, he was so tired of explaining the brilliant deviousness of those assholes.

“How long have you been back?” Just as toneless as before.

“Couple of weeks.” Jim clenched his teeth and his voice choked up. Shit, this wasn’t the right time for the blood to lose its effect! Faster than he could keep track of, he was tumbling into the dreaded abyss of the previous weeks. Although clinging to the last remains of aloofness, he could already feel his self-control sliping away and he wanted nothing more than to scream.

Breathing regularly took a lot of effort, and Jim swallowed against the rising desperation.

Khan cleared his throat. “Who…?”

“…got me out?” Jim finished. “Well, we both know who _didn’t_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High five to NurseDarry, as always <3


	10. Chapter 10

The hand on his jacket disappeared and suddenly the small container became a vast plain, the all-encompassing accusation the only thing surrounding him.

He had failed. Yet again.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, the thought that something about it just wasn’t right had been nagging him. Repeating. Insisting that it was unusual that from a certain point in time, no accounts of Kirk had made it to the places he had been meandering through.

He should have known! Shouldn’t have clung to the stories of heroism and let them distort his vision.

Khan fished for words when the silence was slowly becoming oppressive, even more so because the turmoil in his body was gone. Yet although Kirk seemed to have absorbed the blood, there was not a complete reset of his own system, Khan realized as the urge to touch persisted.

“I’m sorry.” In the darkness, it felt decidedly odd saying that, and Khan snatched back his hand when it wanted to reach out and perform what he could only classify as a comforting squeeze of the shoulder.

“A bit late,” Kirk grunted and then abruptly started to writhe like someone had punched him in the stomach.

“Still, I–” Khan continued.

“What do you want? Absolution?” Kirk interjected.

 _Yes,_ Khan mouthed inaudibly.

“No problem, it’s all yours,” Kirk continued as if he had heard the word. “Prison wasn’t that much of a challenge. In fact, things were a lot easier there. I’m just beginning to realize that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Hell I am!” Kirk groaned. “I knew why I was there and in order to survive I had to stay on my toes. And I was damn good at that.”

“You have always been resilient,” Khan said. Their time in the desert had proven that.

There was a long stretch of silence in which Kirk buried his face in his hands, breathing in and out to rein in his increasing aggravation. “And you’re not the only one who left me behind. Central Command managed to fool everyone. Goddamn, it’s like quitting cold turkey!”

Khan needed a moment to understand the last exclamation. “You still feel the effects of the transfusion?” he asked.

“I feel the _absence_ of the effects, all right?” The voice was gruff, but with an unsettling dose of desperation.

“Can I do anything for you?” Khan asked.

“Not fucking much, no. Unless you’re ready to dope me again.”

With Kirk’s previous bitterness back, there would be just a small step to the somber absence of mind that Khan had come to dread so much. Kirk was right, it was the easiest way, Khan mused before dismissing the notion. In the alley, it had been too close a call. Just a moment longer and he would have initiated sex with Kirk in the middle of the street! “That would complicate our flight,” he said.

“Come on, Khan, I promise I won’t get handsy,” Kirk maintained, but the humorous undertone was belied by dejection.

“Enough of that!” Khan cut him short. If the begging continued, he didn’t know how long he could resist. The taste of Kirk’s lips was still too fresh in his mind. “We have to focus on more important matters.”

“Like sitting in a pitch-black box?” Kirk grumbled.

“No, like making sure the intelligence you acquired is used well,” he reminded Kirk.

“Yeah, great, and what am I gonna do with it?”

Refusing to let the rebuff checkmate him, Khan tasked his mind with problem-solving. How would he proceed if this were his own mission? Gathering more facts would be the first step. “It depends on what else you know.”

“I don’t know anything, okay?” Kirk said. “The only time I’ve seen any officials was when they gave me that usless medal. But De Luca wasn’t there.”

“What about other people?” Khan pressed on.

Kirk sighed. “No one I knew. A Vulcan was leaving at the same time I did, but I’d never seen him before. Had a pretty big entourage, that guy.”

“Describe him.”

“Tall… I dunno, almost white hair, but black eyebrows. Cut quite the grand figure.”

Khan froze. This had to be a coincidence. “Black robe?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Krahl.” The word was out even before the fury had caught up with it. Now suddenly, a lot of things made sense.

“Who?” Kirk asked.

“My lawyer,” Khan said through clenched teeth. “The one who set me up with that cursed psychologist who then paved the way for the implants.”

“I guess I should have followed your trial,” Kirk said and inhaled. “But it wouldn’t have changed much, I guess. Only that I would’ve known earlier that there’s no doubt about what we inferred years ago, is there?” His voice carried hope although he knew there wasn’t any.

“It is not confirmed that we’re dealing with a Vulcan conspiracy. We have just identified one key player, if he is indeed the _K_ in the documents,” Khan said.

The explanation didn’t change Kirk’s obvious inability to come to terms with the fact as such. For a long time, he merely swore under his breath until anger forged ahead, and a deafening bang sounded through the container. Kirk had hit it with his fist.

“Fuck!” he cursed again. “This is all so fucked up!”

“I don’t want to shatter your illusions, Kirk, but people are driven to extreme measures when their backs are up against a wall. After your speech about survival, you–” 

The container shook and there was audible rumbling before they slowed down. In an instant, Khan opened the doors. The world still raced by and it was not advisable to get out, but the alternatives were even less appealing.

“Prepare to jump!” Khan hissed.

“What? Now?” Kirk’s voice had a noticeable edge of panic.

“The grass will soften our impact.” Khan pointed with his finger, but didn’t care if Kirk looked. He had to act fast because if they ended up in a tunnel system, they would probably be stuck.

“Hell, no!” Kirk shouted the moment Khan turned around and embraced him in a vigorous hug. Using all the momentum he could get by pushing himself off with his feet, he ejected them both from the container. A second later, they crashed to the ground, Kirk’s entire weight on him. A sharp rock dug into Khan’s back, but he didn’t have time to assess the damage as they tumbled down a small slope until finally coming to a standstill.

Kirk disentangled himself forcefully and rolled to the side. “You son of a bitch!”

Wincing of pain, Khan got up.

“You’re all right?” Kirk asked and Khan nodded, prodding his back. “Broke something?”

There was actual sympathy in the voice, Khan noted to his astonishment. “A vertebra,” he said. “By what I can tell. But it’s just a fissure.”

“Wow, yeah, if it’s just that…” Kirk gave him a crooked grin while he pushed himself up.

Khan switched off the holocloaking and returned the smile. At least he tried to, as unaccustomed as his facial muscles were to the expression. “We should take cover,” he said and aimed for the nearby trees.

The pain slowed him down at first, but as they continued walking, it vanished. Morning mist lifted slowly and made way for bright sunshine. The warmer it became, the more Kirk’s typical signs of exhaustion manifested, shortness of breath and uncertain steps effectively transporting Khan’s mind back to G-478 Alpha.

“You have to slow down, you hear me?” Kirk wheezed. “I can’t keep up with you unless you give me a fix.”

Khan refused to look at him. “Your choice of words should really be a warning to you.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

Aggression and exasperation balanced each other and Khan peeked to the side to assess Kirk’s state. He looked miserable again, worn out even, but how was it possible that his physique was so fragile? Or was it his mental state?

“I’m sorry,” Kirk said. “It’s just… It really helps.”

Khan frowned and gave Kirk a curious look that he just barely managed to school into neutrality before Kirk turned to him.

“Not just the horny part,” Kirk clarified and then he faced their path again. For a while, he appeared to be in thought, contemplating something that Khan couldn’t fathom. “It takes away the pain. I mean of, well… _everything_.” He sighed.

“Or it is a convincing illusion,” Khan said.

Kirk grunted. “Good enough for me. When I–”

Khan’s hand shot out, but he couldn’t keep Kirk from stumbling over the large root in front of his feet. Dropping like a cut tree, Khan just caught his fall centimeters before he hit the ground, barely avoiding a concussion.

“What the hell!” Kirk shouted and got up again, flinching when he put weight on his left foot. “Damn it! That’s the last fucking straw!” He glowered at Khan as if it was his fault, that he had personally ordered the tree to grow in exactly that place. Refusing to accept the guilt that stirred in his gut, Khan realized that he couldn’t quell it entirely.

Kirk limped forward but just managed a couple of steps before Khan caved in.

“I think your ankle is sprained, so we only need a small dose,” he said. _And then a large distance,_ he added inwardly. He didn’t say it, but he was convinced that Kirk read it in his face, because after resuming their walk, he didn’t try to catch up with him.

Khan marched at the fastest pace his legs allowed. He heard Kirk’s stumbling become regular steps again, so there was no need to turn around and check on him, especially not when the transfusion’s now-almost ritualistic euphoria set in.

The physical symptoms were bearable though, even when the outskirts of a village came in sight and Kirk closed up to him.

“That’s the boost I needed,” Kirk said and laughed. Khan shot him a dark look, but just earned a wink in return.

“Wait here. I’m going to gather provisions,” he said, eager to put a distance between them again.

“I could look around as well,” Kirk said. “Maybe get my hands on a phaser.”

“We don’t need weapons.”

“Says the guy who still has the CCS agent’s phaser.”

An icy thrill crawled down Khan’s back. Feeling for the hard outline of the small weapon, he wondered how he had managed to completely forget about it. An ingrained habit by now, it seemed. “You want a phaser? There, you can have it.”

He pulled it out of his jacket and handed it to Kirk who was more than a little surprised by the gesture, Khan could tell. The bewildered expression was so open and honest, the lips slightly parted, the blue eyes widened…

Khan cleared his throat. “Stay here,” he commanded.

“All right, all right,” Kirk said and pocketed the phaser. “I’ll wait for you.”

The words were accompanied by a clearly lewd grin and Khan fought the impulse to take Kirk right there, consequences be damned. He stopped himself at the last possible moment, wondering how Kirk could do something so careless. Reassessing the look he was given, he couldn’t help the impression that something was off, different, almost…calculated.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” he ordered and then turned to flee because the noncommittal shrug combined with a raised eyebrow was enough to drive him to distraction.

Reaching the more densely populated area of the village came as a relief. Here he could do what he had done in the previous years, automatic routines taking over of hiding, looking for clues about where to find food, and tricking security measures. His mind was focused, clear, and the thoughts of Kirk were banished, safely hidden away only to resurface the moment he made out the brown jacket between the trees again.

“Here, eat,” Khan said gruffly, not risking even a fleeting glance. He _knew_ that Kirk was fixing him with his gaze; he could feel it.

Hiding his discomfort, Khan quickly pressed a small wrapped cake in Kirk’s hand before aiming for the woods. On a decorative map in one of the houses, he had seen several cabins dotting the area. At this time of the year and especially due to the working hours of Central Command's war economy, most of them would be empty.

That they were rather far away from the village was also an advantage, as it would give him the chance to direct his mind to the path instead of his persisting arousal. It wasn’t so pressing though, the small amount of blood making it easier to handle. Perhaps he was also adapting to it, who knew?

It took quite a long time before the tightness in his trousers vanished, but as before, the residual longing wouldn’t go away.

Kirk was leaving his mark, Khan thought to himself. Again. And every time he did, things ended in disaster.

“Have you seen the cabin?” Kirk shouted from behind.

Khan scanned the area for the signs he had missed and indeed, at the foot of the hill they had just begun to descend, there was a cabin situated in a clearing.

Exhausted gasps heralded Kirk’s approach. “There’s a...small lake next to it.”

“And it’s boarded up, so perhaps no one uses it at the moment.” Slowly, Khan could make out more details. “I don’t see any alarms. But if we break down the door, it would look suspicious to anyone passing by.”

He turned to Kirk, expecting some kind of comment, yet the look Kirk gave him was nothing but bewildering. It resembled the one near the village, a rather cold evaluation that suddenly morphed into an almost-smile.

Kirk didn’t need a holocloaking device, Khan thought to himself. He was unrecognizable from one moment to the next without it.

“We could try to enter through the boat house,” Kirk said and inclined his head in a gesture of what? An invitation?

“It might be connected to the main house, yes,” Khan replied, slightly lost regarding how he was supposed to react to the nonverbal communication. He was convinced that he was missing something important.

“All right, so what are we waiting for?”

Without hesitation, Kirk pulled down the zipper and shrugged out of his jacket, took off the shirt, and then walked toward the lake. Completely dazed, Khan followed him and saw him step out of his shoes and trousers at the shore, throwing his clothes on a messy pile.

“You coming, or what?”

Like in a trance, Khan complied while Kirk already plunged into what turned out to be rather chilly water. His head bobbing up and down as he readied himself to dive, Khan followed him under the door. He wasn’t fast enough to see Kirk climb the ladder to the jetty, but when he emerged, Kirk was just about to slide onto the edge of the plank to sit, dangling his legs and leaning back, all wet and painfully attractive.

_A picture of our time in the caves._

Khan gasped and tore his eyes away. For some reason, Kirk found it necessary to taunt him, but at the moment, there were more pressing things to deal with. Aiming for the door, Khan spotted an old-fashioned lock that would be easy to eliminate. He ripped it out of the frame and sent splinters flying.

Inside the cabin, only a small storage room separated the entrance to the boat house from the main area, and the door wasn’t locked. Khan heard steps, so Kirk had followed him.

“I will fetch our things,” Khan said and opened one of the windows to fiddle with the fastening of the shutters. Kirk had reached him and was now leaning on the wall next to the window, seemingly composed and with a lazy smile. The opposite of when they had met again, and exuding more sex than at any time during the blood’s influence.

“Or do you want to retrieve them?” Khan asked, the suddenly heated atmosphere unnerving him. The fact that they were naked didn’t help either.

“Nah, just want to get a good look of you climbing out of that window.”

That damn wink again! Khan escaped, repeating to himself that he was imagining things, but on his return, Kirk was still waiting where he had left him, arms crossed and an even more infuriating grin on his face.

“For a moment, I thought you’d leave me here,” Kirk said. As an answer, Khan threw him his clothes, turned around and started to dress.

There was rustling, but it only lasted for a short while. “A waste of time, really,” Khan heard and looked up again. Kirk had merely managed to put on his boxer briefs and going by his demonstrative inactivity, he didn’t plan on continuing.

“And you could accept it, too, you know?” Kirk remarked.

“Accept what?”

“That the clothes will just be in the way,”

He didn’t ask ‘Why?’ because that would have been a stupid question for sure. Kirk’s predatory smile said it all, activating an instinctive flight reflex in Khan that he subdued quickly. He let himself be crowded, retreating until he felt the backrest of the moth-eaten sofa against his legs.

“We shouldn’t…” Khan began.

“Stop fighting it, all right?”

 _Because it’s always just been the physical aspect,_ Khan finished inwardly. Kirk was right, wasn’t he? But if he was, the thought shouldn’t produce such a dull ache.

“Back in the alley, you said it wasn’t the right time.” Kirk leaned forward. “No one’s going to disturb us now.” Khan breathed in, smelling algae and sweat and a promise of sex. “I know you want it.”

 _Yes, I do._ Not here, not like that, but the possibility of _never again_ was too frightening. Any objections he might have been able to formulate were silenced by Kirk’s mouth anyway, softly continuing where they had left off at the docks.

Kirk pulled off Khan’s sweater and rushed to align their bodies, almost grinding his pelvis into Khan’s, eliciting too-sudden arousal that attacked Khan like the chemistry after a transfusion. It shut down his brain’s ability to steer coordinated actions – especially when Kirk’s practiced hands knew so well what to do, where to touch. Diligently reclaiming their ground with a strong grip before they moved from his backside to the front, they made short work of the zip, and then Khan’s grasp on reality loosened completely as fingers began to stroke his cock.

Leaning on the edge of the backrest gave him more leverage so he could do something else than maintaining poised in an automatic embrace of Kirk, but the moment he snaked his hand between the elastic and the deliciously hot skin, Kirk was gone, his tongue not seizing Khan’s mouth anymore, no warm chest pressing against his.

But oh, instead of the fingers, there was smooth wetness now, engulfing Khan's erection in one swift move before the tongue started to do illicitly wonderful things to the length, massaging and licking until it finally proceeded to the tip.

Painstakingly chasing each synapse that was still active, Khan tried to remember and perceive and enjoy at the same time, burning into his mind how the lips sucked at his glans, how magnificent it felt when the tongue ran along the rim, how devoted Kirk looked. But as much as he tried, he couldn’t process much, not after Kirk went on and on, unrelenting, teasing, torturing him with hints of teeth and silken caresses.

Everything became too much, no matter how appealing the visual input, the firing of his nerve endings or the instinctive flexing of his muscles. Khan closed his eyes. “Please!” he begged quietly. “Please Kirk, I can’t…”

And then the hand was back with a fierce grasp and a perfect rhythm, pushing and pulling, synchronized with the mouth. Khan’s fingers dug into the sofa when his body seized up, preparing him for his release, warning Kirk who relaxed his throat and swallowed. And then hummed around the tip, sending concentrated shockwaves through Khan’s overstimulated penis. Again and again Khan silently beseeched him to stop although he knew Kirk wouldn't. Not until the last twitch had been teased out and Khan’s body was a conflicted boneless mass, firing signals of complete exhaustion and ravenous lust. Kirk unfailingly identified the latter as he got up, and licked a path along Khan’s throat.

“What do you think about we spice things up a little?” The husky voice made Khan’s skin crawl with want. “It would feel so good.” Stepping back, Kirk caught Khan’s eye before he arched a challenging eyebrow. “And I could keep up with you.”

Khan grappled for links. What was Kirk talking about? The gravelly voice was a terrible distraction, it made thinking clearly almost impossible.

“What…?” Khan began, but then the pieces crashed into place, their fallout freezing the blood in his veins. It had all seemed so unreal, and as a matter of fact, it was. It had been nothing but a scheme, a means to an end. “You didn’t sprain your ankle,” Khan whispered, confirming the devastating realization as, caught between anger and defeat, Kirk’s face betrayed its real expression for a fraction of a second.

What had he called it? A _fix_.

“ _You_ also brought it up, remember?” Kirk stepped back. “That I’ve always known what it takes to survive.”

“This hasn't got anything to do with survival. It’s an escape at best.” Khan suddenly felt naked, exposed. Quickly, he pulled up his trousers and retrieved his sweater to put it on. “And what we just did…”

“What about it?” Kirk snapped. “I sped up what would have happened anyway! Come on, Khan, as if we have _ever_ managed to keep it in our pants!” He gave a hollow laugh. “I just hoped that you’d eventually relent and see the perks of a bit of extra stimulation.”

Khan felt his world crumble, the makeshift life he had built up dissolve into nothing, taken apart by Kirk’s ruthlessness. But all of this had to be expected because Kirk had shown his two faces from the beginning, hadn’t he? Who on earth was this man?

The light shining through the only open window was becoming weaker, making it easy to ignore things, but Khan forced himself to look. And listen: to the racing heart. The breathing that faltered occasionally. The shaking fingers kneading each other in balled fists.

“The blood's a lot better than alcohol,” Kirk muttered. “And even _that_ worked to a degree.” His shoulders slumped. “Don’t you get it? It hurts! Thinking about the past years is like putting a knife to my skin and slicing it open. Nice and slow, going deeper until it hits the bone.”

The pain was so palpable that Khan had to fight every fiber in his body to suppress the urge to run, to escape the seemingly never-ending string of accusations and grief.

“Look Kirk, I understand that you are trying to come to terms what they did to you in prison –”

“Prison wasn’t the problem.” Kirk inhaled. “It was the fucking solution.” He raised his head and Khan was sure he had seen a trace of the old Kirk for a fleeting moment. “No, you’re wrong. It’s a lot worse because _I’m_ the problem.”

“You fought in a war that wasn’t yours. But you had the right motives,” Khan explained with more patience than he felt. “To protect mankind.”

Kirk gave a dismissive laugh. “Yeah? And what did I achieve by stomping on everything I believed in? And who cares about my fucking motives? Everyone just believes in the Hero of Theta Four Nine!” It took Khan’s entire self-control to stay calm when, in an instant, Kirk’s body was back against his, all hard muscle, sinful and unforgiving at once.

“And you do too, don’t you?” Kirk snarled into Khan’s ear and pulled him even tighter by his sweater. “You’ve no fucking idea, am I right? But hey, maybe you know me by the name the Klingons gave me,” he said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t have such a heroic ring to it.”

Khan sifted through the scarce details he remembered from Klingon sources. There was just one term that he had overheard recently, any link to an actual event missing from it, although that fact didn't make it less effective as a curse meant to punish the unthinkable, the intolerable.

“The Butcher of the Mah’Rat,” he whispered and Kirk exhaled a shuddering breath.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunny thanks to my dear beta NurseDarry :D


	11. Chapter 11

Would it be possible to pretend the words weren’t out there? That Khan hadn’t just called him by the name that, in prison, had earned him as much grudging respect as his fighting skills?

“Ah, finally the bigger picture,” Jim growled, trying to spur on his anger although he didn’t want anything else but to _rest_ – and turn his grip of the sweater into a quest for support. “But you know what? I get it that you trusted the lies. I wanted to believe in them too.” _And still do._ “Because what was the alternative? Thinking about the Klingon refugee vessel that was caught in the crossfire? Fifty-five civilians don’t seem much, right?” he spat. “Not in the face of winning such an important and strategic battle.”

The images flashed through Jim’s mind and were suppressed again by the automatic response he had cultivated for so long, he barely realized it anymore. He opened his hands and stepped back, too aware of Khan’s eyes studying him.

_Like I’m some lost case occupying a much-needed biobed!_

“In fact, prison was maybe the only place where I truly belonged,” Jim said and yeah, that felt about right. At least he had had clear-cut purpose: atoning for his crimes had given the pain a direction. “Now what?” he asked when his throat started to constrict again. “We’re talking mass murder and suddenly you clam up? You’re the only expert on that subject I know. Make some use of your damn authority!”

The anger was back, thank god, and to give it an outlet, Jim started pacing the room along a too-short distance from the window to the kitchen cabinets and back. A wooden chair that wasn’t really in his way turned out to be harder than at first sight, but when Jim kicked it, it gave him an excuse to bite back the tears that stung in his eyes.

“How do you deal?” he shouted, and Khan evaded his gaze. _That bastard!_ Jim stormed across the room, blind fury directing his fist, but before it could hit its target, it was snatched away with so much force that Jim briefly thought his wrist was broken.

“With what? The death toll?” Khan barked and narrowed his eyes to slits. “ _Hate_ is a good strategy to take your mind off your trail of victims. But going by the way you act, you already know plenty about it!”

“Because suddenly I’m not the golden boy anymore?” Jim snarled. “Don’t play coy, alright? I saw a chance to get a damn reprieve for a couple of hours and I took it!” Instead of an answer, a shove sent him backward, but Jim refused to let himself be intimidated. “You could make it stop, Khan!” he shouted. “Why can’t you see that? You could give us both a damn _break_ , but you don’t fucking care!”

That look again: assessing, questioning – but then Khan suddenly let go of him, bent down to grab his jacket and reach into a pocket. Quickly, he rolled up his sleeve, the movements so fast that everything was reduced to a blur for Jim. He couldn’t even step back when Khan clutched his arm to steady it for the cold and tickle of the infusion.

Speechless, Jim rubbed his skin. He watched Khan put the bag he had brought from the village on the table, take out a small water bottle, wrapped food bars, and a tool that could have been an isodine coupler.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked although it was more than obvious what was going on. “Are you leaving?” Already _saying_ it hurt. But why did it hurt at all? What was wrong? The pain should be dulled!

“I have a good idea where to find the facility. The one where they experimented on me.” Khan took a final look at the contents of the bag before he set it down. “And then there’s still De Luca out there.”

“Are you serious?” It was a redundant question, but Jim couldn’t think of anything else. Something choked him and tore at his insides, eroding every last grain of strength. And it didn’t help that on the table only the hypo device remained – like a silvery charge against them.

Briefly Jim fought the urge to grab it and shatter one of the windows with it. Had Khan just wanted to do the same? When he looked up from the table, Jim thought he saw revulsion coupled with rage in the same unbearable mix he felt.

“You’re better off without me,” Khan snarled. “And trust me, whatever drug you choose, it won’t make the memories go away. Because no matter what it is – a Klingon ship or your crew slitting each other’s throats because you weren’t there for them… _nothing_ can take away the guilt.”

All the words that had been forming in Jim’s head were swept away and he just stared, dumbfounded.

“It will eat you up and then there’s just _hollowness_ ,” Khan continued. “And the knowledge that everything you touch will be tainted because _you_ are tainted! Can’t you see? I was created to excel, and I failed at everything. A curse that became a relic!” Khan gave Jim a hard look. “Just like you.”

Jim felt his fists clench and unclench. “Stop it!” he shouted.

“And whatever you do and how you want to change,” Khan went on regardless.” It’ll come to haunt you.”

“What the hell do _you_ know about change? All I see is that you’re hightailing it!” Jim shot back, and Khan dropped the jacket. It had barely hit the floor when the massive impact of a push sent Jim through the room. Stumbling, he tried to soften the blow, but what his back was spared knocked the life out of his elbows. He couldn’t really process how fast Khan crossed the room to follow him: his hands were on his shoulders almost the moment Jim had come to terms with his aching arms.

“What I know about this?” Khan asked through clenched teeth. Jim made an attempt to wrench free, but had to accept the grip that fixed him almost effortlessly. “Because the night we met…” He stopped and swallowed. “The moment we met again, I also started killing again,” he whispered.

“What…?” Jim mouthed, his mind blank. Just slowly, the connections formed. How blind had he been? There had been so many signs: The constant vigilance and the schemes to avoid contact with CCS agents. Khan’s face when he remembered the phaser in his pocket and his relief when he could get rid of it.

“I never asked you to,” Jim whispered and immediately wanted to take it back. It had sounded childish, ungrateful. Warily, he watched Khan’s frown intensify and Jim knew he should say something, but Khan didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, his eyes were trained on some nondescript point behind Jim. Whatever he thought, disappointment was dominating, yet his features relaxed slightly before he gave a little shake of the head.

“There was something to fight for all of a sudden,” Khan said, more to himself than to Jim, surprise in the voice and a wry smile accompanying the words.

 _Something?_ Jim thought dizzily when the hands lessened the pressure on his chest, and with the same wondering expression of before – like he was registering something he hadn’t quite expected – Khan’s eyes searched Jim’s face, too near to focus, but not near enough for what they wanted to find, it seemed, as Khan didn’t stop his approach.

Jim drew in a sharp breath when, unerringly, the lips continued where the eyes had started, touching down on Jim’s mouth before they began their exploration, unable to decide if they had aimed for the right spot, testing the texture of the flesh and of the rasping stubble. Wordless questions reaching out to Jim.

“So much better than the hatred,” Khan whispered.

Jim closed his eyes. It was too much. Too much sensory input and way too much emotion. The light trail Khan’s hands caressed down his front caused a shiver before they embarked on a ticklish path around his ribs. Goosebumps. What a strange feeling.

He relaxed into the touch and when the hands continued to their initial destination around his upper body, he dismissed any resistance against being _held_. Curious and weightless. So new and too good to end.

 _And it can’t be real,_ Jim thought. The continued infusions had to have changed his genetic makeup somehow – his _and_ Khan’s. It was only explanation for the thrill Khan’s nibbling lips elicited.

“This is just the blood speaking,” Jim murmured, but then gave in to the lips’ incessant begging, because what was he to do when his entire body was flooded with need? When both their bodies were yearning for the slightest touch so clearly and the first lick of the tongue unleashed such fierce passion that Jim gasped for air.

All the more proof that this wasn’t their doing. Kissing shouldn’t evoke such a reaction. And the strong embrace was just that – an embrace, and not the full-body frisson of excitement his mind made of it.

But already being pressed to a fully clothed Khan was enough to send Jim’s lust spiraling, and when Khan began to impatiently shed the layers, the sensations were almost impossible to bear. Only the almost unbroken kiss rallied Jim’s wits, concentrating them on something while Khan set out to get himself naked as quickly as possible.

“No blood in the injection,” Khan whispered and rubbed along Jim’s boxer briefs, short-circuiting Jim’s brain.

“What?” he groaned. There was still too much fabric. Eagerly, he pulled down his last piece of clothing, and without needing to be prompted, Khan’s hand was back, doing exactly what Jim hoped it would – before it inexplicably disappeared again. Pressure on his hip took over and he was being steered through the room while Khan’s mouth still devoured his, giving him direction too.

There should be the sofa somewhere, or there wasn’t, it didn’t matter, he would have followed Khan unquestioningly. His mind registered his legs – no his whole back – meeting the scratchy cover after he was pushed down, but what counted was that Khan was right there with him, astride him, firm hand around their erections in an instant.

“No blood,” Khan panted and began to pump them with unhurried strokes.   

 _No blood._ The words reverberated in Jim’s mind, only slowly taking their full effect. _No blood…_

On their own account, Jim’s hands reached out and buried themselves in Khan’s damp curls, combing through them until they reached the nape, fisting the strands that were longer than usual, but unmistakably Khan. How could he have not realized that in the bar?

A finger coated his tip with a slick film of precum as if to rip him out of those musings. Deliberate and exquisitely cruel, the circles achieved the impossible feat of making him even harder.

“Yes…” The rest was swallowed by a moan and Jim sagged into the sofa, limbs powerless. He didn’t even have enough strength to prevent Khan from sitting up. And while lust was still coursing, surging under the continued pumping of Khan’s hand, Jim took in the eerily beautiful apparition that was Khan in the fading light. Almost frail, like on the Enterprise, just skin and muscle and the sad aura that had always accompanied him.

To lace tenderness into it? Impossible. But yet, there it was.

Jim let his hands wander around Khan’s waist, making sure he didn’t suddenly disappear and he thought he saw a small smile play around the usually-carefully expressionless mouth – those goddamn lips that could kiss him senseless in no time. And as if he had heard him, Khan bent down and nipped a way up Jim’s throat, tongue slithering along a surprisingly receptive earlobe at the end of the journey.

Jim inhaled a ragged breath and sweat was collecting on his forehead. Fuck, what was all this? Everything was too slow, turning him on and on, exploring sensitive spots, playing with the new knowledge, and exploiting it while the hand around his dick didn’t speed up or vary its movements.

It was excruciating. Torture. And it could continue indefinitely, hell yeah!

Jim clutched the flesh of Khan’s ass and pulled him nearer, although it was almost impossible. “Khan?” he wheezed.

“Mmh?” Khan didn’t pause but ran his lips along Jim’s bristly cheek.

“Faster!” Jim implored, and thank heaven, finally they were heading somewhere! Khan licked into his mouth, tongues tangling, sucking sloppily, noisily. That was the music Jim needed to hear. The squelching of leaking cocks in a tight grip in tandem with heavy breathing.

“I know you insist on preparation,” Khan murmured. “But I don’t have time.”

“What?” It seemed to be all he could get out recently. Without the insistent mouth kissing him, it was easier to think, but then a hand spread quickly cooling wetness on his dick.

“Spit will do,” Khan said, jolting Jim out of his stupor.  

 _I can take it._ The words flared up and shed their garish light on the past days. Jim opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, lust warring with his conscience in the cruelest way.

“I can’t wait!” Khan blurted out. “Please!”

 _Is he really begging?_ Jim itched to bury his hands in the wild hair again, or do anything that would bring Khan nearer, even if that meant giving in to the reckless haste that he had vowed to leave behind.

 _I’ll make it up to you another time,_ Jim thought and nodded. Not now though. Not when Khan lowered himself on him with such punishing friction that Jim couldn’t help but drop his head on the backrest with a groan. This would be his end! There was no way he would be able to last, not in such hot tightness!

Khan didn’t give a damn and took him in completely, and Jim forced his eyes open although his senses wanted to go back to absolute minimum input. There was too much to process already.

Not Khan though, it seemed. Slowing down wasn’t an option. Or getting accustomed to Jim’s girth. Grinding himself in Jim’s lap, riding him like he was trying to join them even more, Khan’s boundless energy left scorched earth wherever it reached.

“I can’t…hold back,” Jim rasped and clutched Khan’s shoulder, pulling him down.

“Then don’t.” There, a hint of a smile before Khan started to move again, the viselike grip around Jim’s cock flooring his mind and body. He hadn’t even realized that Khan’s erection was bobbing between them, untouched, until Khan’s hand directed him to it.

“Now, please…”

Jim clutched Khan’s hair and mashed their mouths together. This was it, the perfect high. Khan shaking, groaning, all but shattering when he came, his body flushed with so much warmth that Jim thought the heat around his length would burn him up. But finally, also the muscle relenting when the blood rushed through the tissue, and at last Jim stopped thinking that he was using force after all.

If he hadn’t still felt Khan’s semen cooling in his hand, it would have been hard to tell that Khan had climaxed. The thought flashed through Jim’s head and then his mind went blank, gladly handing control over to Khan, who still fucked himself on Jim like he had been starved of sex. He shoved Jim into the sofa and leaned back for more leverage, pulling out almost completely before driving down again.

Jim’s hands drug into the cover, desperately trying to find purchase when his orgasm hit him with the power of a warp core chain reaction. Helplessly, he let Khan steer him through it, the need to go deeper and have every last drop milked from him met without any demand because Khan just _knew_.

“Hell…” Jim panted before he was kissed again, no matter how much he needed more oxygen. With no intention to climb off Jim, Khan caressed him through the calming phase, bleeding off the tension that had manifested so spectacularly. Patiently, he brought Jim back, just slowing down when his breathing had reached a normal rhythm again.

“You son of a bitch,” Jim said fondly and Khan drew back, quirking a sly grin. “Although I could get used to your efforts at persuasion.” He pushed the unruly hair out of Khan’s face. No, the melancholy air would never really disappear, Jim thought to himself. “I’m sorry for your crew,” he said, and the line around Khan’s mouth deepened imperceptibly. “But you’re not alone, you know? I could help you with that facility.”

Khan inclined his head. “Why would you do that?”

“It might provide some useful intel,” Jim said and shrugged, carefully keeping his nonchalance.

“For what?”

“You know what I want to do,” Jim said. “Expose Central Command for a start. Get more people on my side.”

“And then? Start a revolution?” Khan asked mockingly. He got up and Jim felt instantly empty when his cock slipped out of that slick warmth.

“Why not?” Jim said unthinkingly, but then stopped and reconsidered. Khan was right! “Yeah, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do!”

“We?”

All the implications resounded uncomfortably in the air and Jim drew in a deep breath. “Yeah, I thought you and me, well…whatever this is….”

Snapping his mouth shut, Jim winced at the close scrutiny he was under. Khan looked down at him, the same guarded expression that just dissected and never gave away anything. “We’ve never really had the chance to find out,” Khan said finally.

“Right,” Jim agreed curtly, prompted by an automatic dismissal of whatever feeling reared its head from dangerous depths. There was so much hidden there, and stifling it had been safest until recently. Still was.

 _Time to work on that,_ Jim thought and got up. “Okay, our first mission is clear, I guess.” He gave Khan a crooked grin. “What about some midnight skinny dipping?”

The smile almost reached Khan’s eyes. “For old times’ sakes, Jim?”

Jim’s breath caught at the name. It had cost Khan so say it, that much was obvious. “To celebrate the future,” he replied with a wink, and took off before Khan’s hand could reach him.

 

The End

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost a ton of thanks to NurseDarry, my lovely and ever helpful beta! This wouldn't have been possible without you <3
> 
> And then a shoutout to all of you who suffered through the storie(s) with me and who gave me the strength to continue. I especially blow a kiss in the direction of BotanyCameos and TwoWorldsChild who spurred me on and showed me that I wasn't alone. This meant a lot!


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